


Companion Peace

by StillFeelLikeATeenager



Category: One Tree Hill
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 88,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillFeelLikeATeenager/pseuds/StillFeelLikeATeenager
Summary: She has an amazing business and great friends and an incredible family. She’s happy and healthy. She’s done all right, you know? She even has a list that proves it. She doesn’t miss much about her old life, her ‘before LA’ life. She’s reconciled with her past. She’s what they call ‘comfortable in her own skin’; more than.When a message in her inbox, from someone she’s spoken to once but not yet met, brings with it a blast from her past, she’s … excited about it. Thrilled even. She really should know though, that when it comes to Sawyer girls and Scott boys? Well, the universe has intentions.
Relationships: Peyton Sawyer/Nathan Scott
Comments: 22
Kudos: 28





	1. Baker Sawyer Gallery, Los Angeles

**Author's Note:**

> What you need to know.  
> Of course I don’t own the characters but of course story line is mine.  
> Canon to the Lucas/Peyton LA proposal then veers off from there.  
> Except that there is no Jamie and while Nathan’s post-college career pans out similarly overall, it’s a little different in terms of timelines.  
> Anything to do with merchandising etc is completely fabricated.  
> PLUS ... just as a wee warning ... I don't usually start posting until the story is pretty much finished then I just proof read as I post. This one, however, has got a fair bit of work to be done, mainly in the middle. I've become a bit unfocused (yep, I'll blame that covid-19!) and I'm hoping that if I start posting it, the pressure will force me to get stuck in and sort out the middle chapters. If not you might get left in limbo for a while in which case, apologies in advance. Chapters 1 through 7 are ready, and from chapters 8 to 18, four are ready ... so it will get there. Eventually.

**Baker Sawyer Gallery, Los Angeles**

“Pippa! Stop. Go home!”

“Listen to me, _sis_ ,” the pony-tailed brunette responds fondly, “I need to help you finish up.”

“We’re done! I just need to sit here and … ponder on how many pieces we sold tonight. Pippa, you’re … amazing. You are the consummate art sales consultant. I’m ... in awe.”

“You’re the one juggling it all, Peyton,” the brunette responds. “ _I’m_ the one in awe.”  
“Okay, so mutual appreciation society confirmed,” Peyton laughs. “But I’m still the boss. And, as the boss, I’m telling you to go home. It’s after 11, and we have to open tomorrow too, so go! Shoo!”

“Okay, already! I’ll go. And I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll bring the coffee.”

Peyton locks the door behind Pippa and sits at her desk taking a few minutes to breathe and contemplate. She can’t quite believe how many pieces have the little red sold stickers on them. She and Pippa are the perfect team. While she charms new artists into committing to showings, and impressives potential buyers with her extensive knowledge, Pippa plays hardball, or softball – whichever is required - to seal the deal and get the signature on the dotted line of the sales contract.

When the phone rings, breaking into her reverie, she sighs, thinking it’s probably one of the people who left a while ago, calling because they’ve left a coat or wrap behind.

“Baker Sawyer Gallery.”

“Oh. You’re there,” comes a warm voice, male, and, somehow, sounding a long way off.

“Apparently so!” she retorts cheekily.

“I’m sorry. I was expecting an answer service.”

“Would you prefer that?” she laughs. “I can hang up and let the service get the next call ...”

He joins in her laugh before he continues. “I’m looking for Peyton Sawyer.”

“Well … you’ve found her. What can I do to help? Did you leave something after the function this evening?”

“That would be quite a feat if I had,” he replies. “Given that I’m on the East Coast.”

“Wow … it’s late here but you’re in the wee small hours of the morning,” she observes. “Did you have an insomniac urge to buy art?”

Once again, he laughs. “I’m afraid not. Well, not quite … not exactly. I was planning on leaving a message regarding the work you do for the Angels, then hoping to talk to you tomorrow. Is there a time tomorrow when you’d be free to chat?”

“I’m curious as to what makes you think I’d know anything about any work for the Angels,” she says carefully.

“Right,” he answers. “The nom de plume.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, still giving nothing away, but there is a lightness to her tone that he clearly catches.

“Next you’ll come out with ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you’,” he retorts.

“You say that like you think I couldn’t,” she says drily, wondering how she’s fallen into a ridiculous conversation like this with a total stranger.

“I have a very close friend who’s with the Angels,” he explains. “We were college roommates. He married my sister, so as well as being a dear friend, he’s my brother in law. I’ve been admiring the Angels’ licencing programme, particularly the artwork, for the last two seasons. He watched me spend hours trying to track down the artist who I discovered doesn’t exist, at least not under that name. Eventually he took pity and, after making me sign a cast iron NDA, he got permission to give me a website address for a gallery. Your gallery.”

“Okay,” she replies, still cautiously. “I’d like to have been forewarned but … okay.”  
“I appreciate that. So … _is_ there a time tomorrow when you’d be free to chat?”

“I’m free to chat now.”

“It’s pretty late for you …”

“Later for you …”

“Well, alrighty then. Miss Sawyer … or do you prefer Ms?”

“Peyton is fine.”

“Peyton then. My name’s Bobby. I’m the Head Coach with an NBA team. Basketball.”

She laughs infectiously at that. “I’m aware that the NBA involves basketball, Bobby. Which team?”

“Well, this will all sound very _Men in Black_ I’m sure, but I can’t say. Not just yet.”

“Okay … let’s run with that then,” she replies drily.

“You’re laughing at me,” he observes.

“A little. Mainly because I’m sure Google can tell me fairly quickly which NBA teams have a coach named Bobby, Rob, Robert or Roberto.”

“That’s probably true,” he agrees lightly. “But my nickname’s Bobby because I was responsible for the bobby calves on our farm as a kid, not because it’s related to my actual name.”

“Foiled again!” she chuckles. “Okay then Bobby-who-grew-up-on-a-farm, tell me why you’re contacting me about my Angels’ work at 2am your time.”

“Well, in short,” he says, “we love it. We love what you’ve done with the player portraits, the game sketches, the limited-edition prints. We love the style and feel, the energy and the love of the game that comes through. And to be frank, we love what we hear your work has done for merchandise revenue for the Angels. We want to open discussions about whether or not you’d be interested in creating a similar programme for us.”

“Basketball, huh?” she muses aloud.

“Any stance on that?” he asks. “You clearly love baseball … it shows in your work. Could you create that same feeling for a basketball team?”

“Bobby, I came to baseball rather recently … just the last few years. For me it’s more about the players and their stories and the humanity of the competition, the battle, the victories, the losses … rather than the sport itself, or I should say _which_ sport.”

“So ... no particular aversion to basketball?” he asks with a hopeful tone.

“What would you say,” she says with a warmth to her voice, “if I said I was a high school basketball cheerleader?”

“I’d say your basketball work could be amazing,” he almost gushes. “And I’m keener than ever to look into this. I’m assuming the Angels have you locked up so you can’t take on any other baseball work, but does your contractual arrangement with them allow for another sporting affiliation?”

“It does,” she says simply.

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely,” she says confidently. “I have a very good lawyer and that was a non-negotiable for me.”

“You’re smart.”

“I am,” she says in a very straight-forward manner, without a hint of boastfulness. “It’s possible to be both creative and savvy. And I have a family to provide for ... so that’s a powerful motivator. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“It seems a little … odd for the Coach to be handling this?”

“It is,” he agrees. “It’s just an idea I had that I don’t want to hand over to the marketing suits yet.”

“Well, I’m interested enough to talk a little more,” she responds. “Baseball and basketball seasons are moreorless offset, so workload would be nicely spread. I have a good team here at the gallery so getting away is feasible. You’d need to work very quickly though … you must have players coming into pre-season camp in what? 4 to 6 weeks? For about a month before your season tips off?”

“You _do_ know basketball!” he enthuses. “Yeah ... that’s about right. Are they impossible timeframes? We can always start this conversation with next season in mind rather than this coming one.”

“Let’s see how we go,” she replies as she thinks it through, flipping through a small and stylish desk calendar that sits near the phone. “I can tell you now that if we decide to proceed, the only reason why it wouldn’t work for this coming season would be if things were slow or held up at your end. I can be flexible. I’ve got very good suppliers that will turn things round on a dime. Use my contacts for printing and so on, and you won’t have issues. Whether we’re on, or not, would all come down to if you can get decisions and cooperation happening quickly enough.”

“Point taken,” he agrees. “So, what do you need from me to help you decide if you’re interested beyond talking a little more?”

“So … for me, it’s really all about the people,” she muses. “Do you have a squad list?”

“I do,” he admits after a pause. “But it’s not public knowledge and it won’t be for a while yet.”

“Well … as I said, it’s about the people. I won’t talk further without seeing that list. I’m happy to sign a nondisclosure. And I can give you a couple of names … _another_ couple of names, I should say … at the Angels if you want to reassure yourself that I can be trusted to be the soul of discretion.”

“Let’s say I can swing that,” he says after a long moment. “What would you do with it?”  
“Just a bit of online research on each member of the squad – once over lightly, really. Just enough to get a little feel for them as people. I guess, for me, it’s that while I can be flexible, I’ve reached a point where I can choose my projects. Honestly? I’d love to work with a basketball team, but I don’t need to get locked into a team that doesn’t feel like a good fit. I don’t expect to have an instant rapport with every team member, but I like to know they’re fundamentally good people … my kind of people.”

“Okay, Peyton. I’ll do what I can,” he says a little hesitantly. “I … I have doubts that I can swing it but I’ll work towards getting the nondisclosure through to you tomorrow morning, then a squad list as soon as we have that signature back from you. If I can get that sorted, what’s your schedule like for the next couple of weeks?”

“Next week is a nightmare,” she admits, looking at the calendar again. Supplier meetings. Two lunches with potential new artists plus one with her accountant. And given how much of the current showing has sold … some heavy-duty planning for the next one. “Week after that I’m actually taking a few days off with my family.”

“That week I’ll have the whole team in for a bit of a pre-preseason friendly ‘boot camp’ for want of a better word. Not full on training, but they’ll all be in, with their families. I like the guys’ support networks to have the chance to get reacquainted before the madness starts. And for the new families to integrate.”

“You know what?” she says thoughtfully. “I’m liking the sound of the way you work, Bobby.”

“The guys just have to have their families on board. It’s a lucrative career for them, but it’s hard being away from home, from their wives and girlfriends ...”

“Hopefully not both a wife and a girlfriend at once!” she says with a throaty laugh.

“Look ... it’s a long shot,” he tells her after he joins her laughter. “I suspect we can’t make it happen that quickly, but if we could … how feasible would it be for you to be available one day that week to meet the team?”

“Hmmm. Not sure. Particularly as you still haven’t told me which team … so I don’t know how far we’re talking about me travelling.”

“Let’s get that nondisclosure sorted, then I can tell you who you’re talking to!”

“Alright then Bobby, I’ll look out for that to come through tomorrow,” she says. “I’m assuming you found this phone number on the gallery website, so you can just email through the site too.”

“Will do. Hey, Peyton, thanks so much for being prepared to talk this evening. Can I ask just one more thing?”

“Sure.”

“How’d that high school team do; the one that you cheered for?”

She smiles to herself, a smile that he can hear in her tone. “State champs my Senior year.”

“Nice! What State?”

“Now _that_ would be telling, Bobby-who-grew-up-on-a-farm,” she teases. “Let’s get that nondisclosure sorted … then when you’ve shown me yours, I might show you mine!”

He chuckles, and she thinks she really likes the sound of his laugh; warm and deep and genuine, like it comes from the belly.

“Fair enough. I really hope we can get this project off the ground. I think I’d really enjoy working with you, Peyton Sawyer.”

“Well … I shall look forward to finding out who you really are, Bobby. Good night.”

“Good night, Peyton and thanks again.”

She’s surprised the next morning when the nondisclosure comes in not long after she’s opened the gallery. She gives it a once over; it’s pretty standard stuff, then prints it, signs it, scans it and emails it back to Bobby, who has used a personal email address with a random moniker that reveals nothing about his identity. She chuckles at his subterfuge. He really is giving nothing away.

She’s _really_ stunned when the squad list is back to her by end of day, this time from his official email address that reveals the team. And the surprises keep coming when she opens it and runs her eye down the list of player names. She picks up the phone right away and phones the mobile number Bobby’s given her.

“Hello?”

“Bobby _Irons,”_ she says with a laugh in her voice. “Peyton Sawyer.”

“Wow. That was fast. Have you hit a problem?”

“No,” she answers firmly. “Did you have any idea when you approached me that I’m a Southern girl born and raised?”

“No, I didn’t,” he replies. “I don’t think that’s mentioned anywhere on your website or in any material I’ve seen. And I didn’t detect it when we were talking. So, I take it that means you have no issues with working with the Charlotte Bobcats then?”

“Absolutely not, particularly as my Dad is based in Charlotte these days, which is a rather nice piece of serendipity. I wanted to check this squad list though ... is this list 100% final?”

“Sure is. Why?”

“I know one of these guys,” she tells him with a tone that is part disbelief, part hope. “Or at least …”

_I used to._

“Which one?”  
“That high school State championship I mentioned last night?” she primes him. “North Carolina.”

“Well, well, well ... small world. Which team?”

“Tree Hill Ravens.”

“Okay, _wow,”_ he says, his surprise readily apparent. “So, you know our Comeback Kid?”

“I used to, I guess,” she says gently, a little wistfully. “It’s been a really long time.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“No!” she exclaims without even thinking about it. “Please … can I ask you to uphold a little informal nondisclosure of our own?”

“Does that mean we’re progressing these discussions?” he counters.

“It does. And given that my Dad is the family I was spending time with week after next, it’s relatively straight forward for me to head to him in Charlotte instead of him coming to me, which was our original plan.”

“Are you saying you could be here for our team gathering?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah, I could.”

“This really does feel like we’re gathering some momentum.”

“Look Bobby, I’ve got an idea,” she rushes out. “My lawyer could very quickly produce an adapted new version of my Angels contract and get it to your people. It’s actually not that complex – it covers off who owns what and for how long, royalties, all that sort of stuff. It’s kind of plug and play to be honest ... it doesn’t have to be a long drawn out negotiation. If I got that to you within a day or two, your people could go through it over the next week, then if we’re all feeling comfortable after I’ve met you and whoever else is involved, we could make any adjustments to the paperwork while I’m there.” 

“You’d be prepared to come without it being final?”

“I’m prepared to switch my plans with my Dad to come to Charlotte anyway,” she states. It’s been a while since I’ve been and it’s not really an inconvenience at all. It’s always nice to get out of LA for a few days. I’ll only come to the stadium … oh, I’m assuming that’s where you’ll be based?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Well, I’ll only come to the stadium if we’re all comfortable with that and it looks like we’re proeeding. And given the time frames, I’d suggest you look at whether you can work in a preliminary sitting with each player for sketches.”

“What would that involve?”

“An hour each. Quick sketches, lots of photos and so on. I’d then deliver back to you the team player portrait drafts within a couple of weeks. If there’s any time during that week when I could get initial sketches and photos from some practice sessions ... that would help with setting up a plan for the season.”

“Wow … this is … um, this is a lot to think about,” he ponders.

“Yeah … sorry ... I’m really jumping the gun here,” she laughs. “I just know what’s worked with the Angels.”

“No … I love it,” he reassures her. “It’s really good to know you’re as enthusiastic about this as I am. And if the Bobcats can ride the Angels’ coat tails and benefit from that expeir3ince, so much the better. I have to admit the whole nondisclosure and squad list went a great deal more smoothly than I expected, so maybe we really can pull this off for this season.”

“Right. Well I need to get on to my lawyer and get a template agreement through to you, so your people can start picking it to pieces. And I need to talk to my Dad about a change of plans. And you need to promise me that you won’t reveal anything about me to your … um … Comeback Kid.”

“That will mean keeping it quiet from the whole team … but that’s fine. If we end up scheduling the portrait sittings, we’ll explain the concept but not your personal details.” 


	2. You’ll always be 23 to me, Nathan Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s amazing, and even a little scary, how well it all comes together. Larry Sawyer is delighted that his daughter is coming to him this time; he really doesn’t much like LA. And Peyton has no idea if Bobby is just the world’s greatest negotiator and project manager, or if it’s just the universe turning in peculiar ways, but it all falls into place, and before she knows it the two days of initial sittings for portraits are booked, with the ‘Comeback Kid’ booked in last on the first day which is … well, it’s any minute now actually.

It’s amazing, and even a little scary, how well it all comes together. Larry Sawyer is delighted that his daughter is coming to him this time; he really doesn’t much like LA. And Peyton has no idea if Bobby is just the world’s greatest negotiator and project manager, or if it’s just the universe turning in peculiar ways, but it all falls into place, and before she knows it the two days of initial sittings for portraits are booked, with the ‘Comeback Kid’ booked in last on the first day which is … well, it’s any minute now actually.

All day, she’s managed to avoid telling any of the other players her name, mainly by skillfully getting them all talking about themselves, not that it takes that much. They’re pro athletes; they have pro egos. They _love_ to talk about themselves!

Peyton is tidying her gear, placing the last group of rapid-fire sketches into a named envelope, not entirely sure whether she’s nervous or excited, or maybe a little of both, when she hears him approaching, talking on the phone. He stops just outside the room, still out of sight, to conclude his conversation.

“… yeah, that’s fine. I’ll get it all on the way back tonight. Alright. Look … I’ve got to go. I’m heading into this portrait sitting with the team’s new sketch artist.”

There’s a pause before he continues. A pause during which she smiles to herself, thinking she would have recognized that voice absolutely anywhere.

“Not sure. Merchandising income, I guess. Apparently, it worked for the Angels and they want to duplicate the idea. They showed us some of the Angels’ stuff; it’s amazing. I really liked it. It felt ... I dunno ... _real_ and … kind of familiar. Weird, ‘cos I don’t even follow baseball.”

“Yeah. Okay. Gotta go. See you later on. Yup. Love you too.”

He comes into room, head down, texting.

“Sorry I’m a couple minutes late,” he says in an offhand way, still texting. “Where do you want me?”

“How ‘bout over here for a Nathan Scott hug?”

He snorts. “Seems slightly unorth …” but then he stops and even with his head still bowed she can see his brow wrinkle. Maybe that voice recognition works both ways. Finally, he looks up and his jaw literally drops. “Holy shit!”

“How ya’ doin’ 23?”

“Sawyer!?” he exclaims, his eyes still wide and surprise – shock, really – still all over his face. “Oh. My. Freaking. God. How long …?”

“Too long, Scott,” she laughs. “Now _get over here_ ... I wasn’t joking about that hug.”

He drops his bag, drops his phone into top of the open zip and strides across room to sweep her up into his arms.

“God, Sawyer,” he breathes after a long silent moment as he hugs on and on. “Man, it is _so_ good to see you.”  
“It’s really good to see you too, Nathan,” she enthuses when he finally releases her. They stand for a second, both beaming.

“Why haven’t ...?”

She cuts him off, placing her hand over his mouth, shaking her head.

“You know what? No _why haven’t you kept in touches_ , no _why haven’t you visiteds_ , no _why haven’t you been homes_. From either of us. It takes two to keep it going. We both let it drift. All you need to know is that I was fairly interested in working on this project from when Bobby first contacted me, but when I saw you on the squad list, it … well, it kind of sealed the deal.”

“So, I get a cut of the royalty then?” he quips, eyebrows raised and that infamous smirk crackling.

“Yeah right … Mr NBA-making-zillions-superstar.”

“Well … getting back in the game, anyway,” he shrugs.

“A little more than that!” she enthuses. “Right … look … I do have to do the work part of this, and we have only an hour for this sitting so pick a spot. Stool, chair, bar leaner, wherever you think you’ll be most comfortable for an hour. I’ll be sketching, and I’ll get a lot of photos too … but I’ll let you know before I start snapping.”

Nathan selects the bar leaner, folding his arms over the top of it and leaning in.

“So … can we catch up while we do this,” he asks hopefully, “or do you need silence?”

“I can’t really talk much while I’m sketching,” she tells him, “but it’s good if you do. It keeps you relaxed but animated. So … fire away, Mr Scott. You’ve got an hour to tell me all about you and the last …” she pauses to think.

“Nearly six years, I think,” he fills in for her.

“God … really?” she asks, trying to think the timeline through.

“Yup,” he nods after doing his own quick calculation check in his head. “Last time I saw you was when you blew back into town for two days to pack up your old room when your Dad sold the house.”

“Wow … that _is_ nearly six years then,” she confirms after a moment’s thought to confirm in her own mind. “So … let’s start with the family then. How’s Haley?”

“Yeah. A lot can happen in six years,” he says thoughtfully, glancing at her with an odd look on his face. “Hell … a lot can happen in two or three years.”

“Nathan?” she asks, frowning deeply. She’s never seen that look on his face before.

“Haley and I have been divorced for nearly two years, Peyton,” he informs her calmly. “I thought you knew.”

She freezes for a moment, her pencil poised, until she shakes her head and tells her hand to keep moving.

“I … Nathan ... I’m so sorry. No … I had no idea. If it’s any consolation at all … it’s not just you and Hales that I lost touch with.”

“Well, I knew you weren’t in touch with Luke, but not even Brooke?”

“No … we tried … we really did,” she says sadly. “And we kind of managed it for a little while but it’s probably four years since we spoke.”

“You fell out?” he asks with a small frown of his own forming. He honestly can’t imagine a world where P. Sawyer and B. Davis aren’t … well, _P. Sawyer and B. Davis._

“No, not at all,” Peyton tells him to his relief. “It’s just … her life is just insane and mine … well it got kind of insane too really.”

“Care to share the insanity?”

“Sure … but not right now. I need to draw your gorgeous face. God, Scott,” she chuckles, “I think you got even better looking! Now … come on … tell me about you and Tutor-Wife … is it too hideous to talk about what happened?”

“Not anymore,” he half shrugs. “We were good through college. We were good through my season at the Chiefs. Did you know about the Chiefs?”

“I did hear that,” she nods. “D-league team, yeah?”

“Yup. Bobby was the coach there; he picked me up straight out of college. Then after my first season I got drafted by the Bobcats.”

“Tell me about that,” she prompts as she turns the page on her first quick outline and starts another immediately.

“God, it was incredible,” he almost sighs. “That moment when your biggest dream comes true? Just … _amazing._ I made the NBA. I remember going out to see Whitey to tell him … best feeling ever. Having that pride reflected back at me. And I had my girl, you know. It was amazing. We were talking about kids … and then it ... it just all … fell apart.”

Peyton continues to sketch, doesn’t speak, knowingly leaves the space for him to continue talking.

“It was hard. Travelling, being away, being apart but we were doing okay, at least I thought we were. Then Haley’s Mom died, and it was like she blamed me; that I couldn’t be there as much as she wanted me to be. I tried. I really did but there’s only so many practices you can miss, and there’s hardly any leeway on missing games. It just got … really … I dunno … we grew further apart. She lost her way a bit without her Mom I think, even though they had seen so little of each other for years, and she got so insecure. Started accusing me of having affairs when I was on the road.”

Peyton stopped and looked him. Her green eyes meeting his blue. And he found it incredible that the person who should immediately have thought the worst of him with regards to fidelity, or lack of, looked straight at him, searched his gaze for only a second, then nodded and spoke softly, with absolutely certainty.

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he says calmly. “I’m not that guy anymore, haven’t been for a really, really long time. But she just couldn’t let herself believe it. So, we went from talking about having a family to me being served with divorce papers in the space of six months.”

“I’m so sorry, Nathan. That’s … wow … I really thought you two were going to live out that ‘always and forever’ mantra you had. So, losing her Mom is what sparked it, do you think? Like a depression or …”

“Yeah, I do,” he nods. “It just changed the way her brain worked. And that’s what depression is, yeah? It’s brain chemistry.”

“So says Dr Scott!” she teases gently.

“I guess I learnt the hard way too,” he admits, “after my accident.”

“Of course,” she says empathetically. “Nathan, how soon after … um, after Haley leaving … did the accident happen?”

“A few weeks … right after the end of the season,” he tells her. “Worst couple of months ever. At least I got through the whole season and we made the play offs that year for the first time in forever.”

“Can you talk about the accident?” she asks a little tentatively.

She’s loath to ask but he seems to truly be okay talking and the facial expressions that are flying over his face are imprinting themselves on her mind. She knows that these portraits are going to be incredible … and she knows that most of them will never make it to the Bobcats’ merchandising. They’ll be too personal, too raw.

“I can now,” he smiles. “ _Comeback Kid_ , right? Perseverance, determination, show ‘em what you’re made of boy, all that baloney? But four months after it happened, or even a year after it, you wouldn’t have wanted to ask me that.”

“How bad did you get?” she asks gently, pausing to meet his eyes for a moment.

“You know, even with not having seen me for nearly six years, you still get it,” he muses, “how I’d have spiraled down. Weird. How bad? Four months after the accident I was still sitting in a wheelchair, refusing to walk, drinking myself stupid by mid-morning every day, living in a pigsty. Had the greatest loser rock guitarist hair, Sawyer, way past my shoulders. You’d have loved it!”

“I _so_ would not!” she protests. “Never did understand long hair on boys. My crush on Dave Grohl was _in spite_ of the hair, not _because_ of the hair. So … what snapped you out of it? There had to be a trigger for you to turn yourself back on.”

“Back in the day it would’ve been one of you three girls …”

“That is _not_ what I meant by turn on, you perv!” she laughs. “Some things never change.”

He smirks at her, and laughs with her, and shakes his head at the way she’s fallen right back into teasing him. He likes it.

“Sorry, poor choice of words ... not what I meant … though somewhat true nevertheless,” he adds with a cheeky grin. “I meant that Haley or Brooke or you would’ve burnt my ass and dragged me kicking and screaming back to life. But none of you were there.”

“Nathan …” she begins sorrowfully.

“No, it’s okay,” he interrupts with his hands up. “You said no recriminations and that’s a good place to start from.”

“Lucas wasn’t around for you?”

“A bit,” he shrugs. “He tried, I guess. But I think there was always that little bit of him that resented me making the league, you know? Because it was his dream too … and it was ripped away from him way before it was from me. And, you know, he bounced back. He found another dream … and he expected me to do the same.”

“He took a long time to find his next dream, and hell, he went off the rails a bit too,” she points out. “All that lying and secrecy. Was he at all supportive though?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. I think he _tried_ , but he gives support as he’d want it to be delivered to him. Does that make sense?”

She rolls her eyes at that. “Oh yeah, that makes complete sense.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “I think maybe you’d understand that more than anyone. Look, he was a decent guy and he tried. He kept trying for longer than almost anyone else, I guess. And I really didn’t make it easy for him. In the end, it was my Mom and Whitey that got through my thick head.”

“Yeah? Well that’s kind of cool that your Mom pulled through for you after … well, everything; the booze, the pills …”

“… the affair when I was a kid, the sleeping with Keith, the fling with Skills,” he laughs, counting them off on his fingers.

“No!” she half gasps, half laughs. “You did _not_ just say your Mom had a fling with Skills?”

“Oh, I _did_ say it,” he insists, laughing at her shock, “and I am _many_ things, Sawyer, but a liar I am _not_.”

“You can tell me all about _that_ another time. For now, please continue with the getting you out of the wheelchair and, I guess, into a barber shop!”

“It was pretty simple in the end,” he admits. “Whitey played the ultimate guilt card.”

“Guilt card as in _look what I’ve done for you kid and this is how you’re gonna repay me_?”

“Guilt as in _I’ve got about a year to live Nathan Scott, and my dying wish is to see you back on that bloody court and executing your damn near perfect jump shot again and it might not be in the goddam NBA but it can still be on a court. And it might not even be as a player, but it could be as a damned good coach_.’”

“Whitey was sick?” she asks, her eyes wide with apprehension. “Did he …?” She really doesn’t want to hear the answer to that.

“You know what? He’s a tough old boot that guy. Remember that tumour he had behind his eye? Senior year? No, Junior year. Well, it’s come back with a vengeance, past the point of being able to operate. They gave him twelve months and that was more than eighteen months ago. He’s … not so good, but he’s still here. I’m heading up to see him this weekend. I’ve got special permission to tell him I’ve made it back. Just in case he isn’t ….” he pauses and swallows. “It won’t be public knowledge until they release the squad list …”

“… next month,” she finishes. “Yeah I’ve signed a nondisclosure agreement as part of this whole thing. So … Whitey kicked your ass out of that chair huh?”

“Yup. Then my Mom stepped up like I just never would’ve thought she could. Rehab driver, personal chef, housekeeper, even weight spotter until I got back up to heavier weights again.”

“You finally got to see who your Mom could be when she got out from under your Dad’s oppressive rule,” she observes wisely.

“I did,” he agrees. “I owe her a lot ... a huge amount. I don’t think I could ever come close to repaying her.”

“She’s your Mom, Nathan,” Peyton smiles. “All she’ll ever want in return is for you to be happy and healthy.”

There’re a few moments silence, during which he wonders how she could have that sort of insight into the mind of a parent. Those were almost the exact words his mother had used when he’d tried, repeatedly, to express his appreciation.

She needs his face to be more expressive than the thoughtful visage it is right now, so she prods the conversation along again. “So, tell me how the comeback into the NBA came about. I might start taking a few photos while you talk about that ‘cos I know your face is going to get all _basketbally_ now!”

“I have a basketbally face?” he asks with an amused grin.

“Well you always used to. I can’t imagine that’s changed. So … shoot.”

“Well … I guess … months and months of harder work than I have even done in my life happened first. I mean, I used to think I knew what physical exhaustion was, but I knew nothing really. It was … just … I can’t even begin to explain it. But I got out of the chair. I got walking. I got swimming. I got weight training. I started out just shooting; ten balls at a time. Worked up to fifty, then a hundred at a time, then started playing a bit with Skills.”

“Your Mom’s _luvverrrr_!?” she says saucily, eyebrow raised, rolling the r.

“You’re still a bitch, Sawyer!” he quips drily.

“Occasionally,” she agrees without protest.

“So, this is all over about eighteen months,” he tells her to add context, a sense of how long this took.

“Wow … that’s a long time to keep at it like that.”

“Well, the good thing is that the physical therapist actually found an issue with my back that would otherwise … even without the accident, there’s a pretty good chance it would have ended my playing days quite quickly.”

“And that’s good how?” she asks, removing the camera from in front of her face for a moment to meet his gaze.

“‘Cos we operated about four months into the rehab process, once I was strong enough to take it, and rebuilt from there. End result: my back is stronger than it was to start with, and I can actually take more risks on the court now … play a more physical game.”

“Your game wasn’t physical enough?” she asks in disbelief. “Geeze Nate.”

He chuckles before he continues, and she raises her camera and starts clicking away again.

“My game was plenty physical enough for a non-Top 50 college and the D-league, but that first season with the Bobcats? I was nearly wrecked at the end of it. That won’t happen this time. And I _need_ to have a big physical game. I’m up against guys that have got 3 or 4 inches on me, sometimes more. That’s actually why I didn’t make the league straight out of college; they thought I wasn’t tall enough. It took the D-league season to prove it wasn’t a deal breaker. But with the height thing, I have to have a big jump and I have to be fast.”

“Six two and not tall enough?” she says, shaking her head. “I get it though. Some of the guys that have come in for sittings today have made me feel like a midget. But … how did you actually get back in here? They wouldn’t have just picked up the phone to someone who’d been out of action for that long.”

“Bobby was always amazing; he kept in touch he’d moved to the Bobcats during my time away and I … I just asked him one day if he thought there might be a way that I could be involved … like with training ... or specialist coaching. I was back on the court and feeling really good, but I wanted to get back inside the stadium. I didn’t even think of it being to play to be honest. I just thought I could help them make the play offs again this season. I watched a lot of games, a lot of tape while I was away. We made the playoffs the season I was here and missed last year … but not by a whole lot. The team overall really stepped up, but I thought I could help with focused point guard input … training their guys. Bobby jumped at my offer. I came down and we started training and …”

She grins, holds the camera at her hip for a moment, tilts her head to the side. “You blew them off the court, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he says with a proud smirk. “And I think, maybe, I was the most surprised of all. You know Sawyer, I never took it for granted, I really didn’t … but the second I started training with those guys … it was like this massive explosion of love for the game in me. It was just … I dunno … I’m not the wordsmith in the Scott clan.”

“Pure joy,” she says looking at the screen on her digital camera.

“Joy?” he repeats with a frown.

“Look at these few photos,” she says walking over to him, “this is exactly when you were talking about that explosion of feeling.”

“I forgot the camera was even there,” he admits as he looks over her shoulder at the last few shots she’s taken.

“Well _that_ , Nathan Scott, is pure joy.”

“And God, I’m still a handsome devil,” he observes cheekily, his palm resting lightly on her shoulder for a moment.

“And _God_ , you still have an ego the size of North Carolina!” she quips back.

She checks her watch. “Look, we’re kinda done for time, Nate.”

“That was an hour?”

“‘Fraid so 23.”

“That’s the second time you’ve dragged that old pearler out. It’s a long time since I’ve been 23. I wore Keith’s number for a while.”

“12,” she says gently as she’s packing her camera away.

“12,” he confirms. “Not sure what I’ll have this season.”

“Isn’t that all sort of sacred and superstition-filled?” she asks, curious about the rules or traditions of jersey numbers.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t worry me anymore.”

“Do the Bobcats have a 23?”

“Used to, a long time ago. Not now. New season numbers will be allocated, I guess. Those that played last season will probably keep theirs unless they want a change or there’s another reason to change.”

“You’ll always be 23 to me, Nathan Scott,” she says then, with a cheeky tilt of her chin she continues, “even if I didn’t tattoo it above my butt like Haley did.”

“Wow. 23,” he says, shaking his head. “Maybe I should ask. That’d be kind of cool. I’m sure Haley’ll have had it removed by now though, especially after she came back.”

“Walk out with me?” Peyton asks, zipping up her bag and her large folder. “I’m not sure I can find my way back to my car; this place is a maze.”

“Trust me, your car will be miles away if it’s in the visitor carparks?”

She nods confirmation.

“Get ready for a long walk then, Sawyer. I’ll walk you to your car there then get you to drop me back to mine. You need to get a staff/contractor parking permit while you’re here. Didn’t Bobby sort that?”

“I actually haven’t met Bobby yet,” she admits. “It’s all been on the phone and by email. He had some off-site thing on today, so I’ll meet him tomorrow. I guess his assistant didn’t think of it. So … Haley? You said she came back.”

“Mmmm. A few months back,” he says absent mindedly as they begin walking.  
“So you’re working on things then? A reconciliation?” she asks brightly. “That’s …”

“What? No!” he says firmly. “Burned bridges. She wanted to try again but I was so done. During my whole recovery and rehab and surgery process … over a year and a half, she was completely absent. One bunch of flowers after the surgery, I think. I just …”

“Moved on?”

“Kind of moved on … kind of moved back, if that makes sense?”

“Not really.”

“Once I really got underway with the rehab … she’d have been gone almost six months by then … I felt more like _me_ than I had for years. Look, Haley’s an amazing woman, she really is. She helped me be a better guy, that’s for sure. But by the time she wanted out, I don’t think I was even _me_ anymore. Maybe ultimately that’s _why_ she wanted out. She wanted bits of the _original_ me, but _she’s_ the one that made me change so much. Too much, in the end. So, anyway, I figured I’m better off just … being me for a bit.”

“But ... sorry ... I wasn’t eavesdropping when you arrived but, on the phone … it sounded like you were talking to …”

“Nah. Flying solo. On the phone? That was my _Mom_! She’s staying with me in my shitty little rental apartment for a few days and ... thank God ... that reminds me. I have to pick up some dinner stuff on the way home. There; you being nosy saved my butt. So, thanks, Sawyer.”

“I was _not_ being nosy!” she protests.

“Maybe just a little bit?” he teases, bumping shoulders.

“Okay, maybe just a little bit,” she grins up at him.

He ducks in front of her and grabs her left hand.

“Reciprocal nosiness,” he explains when she raises her eyebrow in question. “No rocks on the ring finger, Sawyer? Single white female?”

“Something like that,” she shrugs evasively.

“Something like that?” he snorts. “What sort of answer is that?”

He stays on her left side, throws his right arm around her shoulders and gives her a persuasive squeeze. “C’mon you just got the last six years of my life story. What’s up with yours?”

“You know … I’m not going to get into that when we’ll be at my car in a couple minutes and you have errands to run for your _Mommy_.”

“You _are_ still a bitch!”

“You love it!” she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

“I missed it, that’s for damn sure,” he says, squeezing her again. “Just realizing how much. Man, I thought of you as my best friend, Peyton.”

“I know,” she nods. “And I really did too. You and Brooke. And I lost both of you ‘cos life just got too damn crazy.”

“Can I ask you something?” he says, a little tentatively, bending to look into her eyes for a moment.

“Anything,” she says confidently.

“Did you deliberately cut us out after the Lucas thing?”

“What? No!” she replies vehemently. “I mean ... we ... I mean you, Haley and me … we were still in touch for a year or so after the bust up. It wasn’t that … there were things …”

“You don’t want to say,” he seems almost sad, like she’s saying she didn’t trust him.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just …” she stops and turns to really look at him. “Nate … you’ve had a massive six years, yeah?”

He nods.

“Well, I guess I have too. And I’d love to tell you all about it,” she says entirely genuinely. “Just not when we’re walking to the car, and we’ve got only a few minutes, you know?”

“I know. So, Bobby said you’re here all week, yeah? More sittings tomorrow then two or three days of shooting and sketching at training. I won’t say practices ‘cos they’re not really, not at this stage. Is that the way it’s laid out?”

She nods; that’s exactly the plan.

“So, shall we catch up over dinner one night?” he suggests hopefully.

“Oh, I’d love that!” she exclaims, making him grin widely. “But I think Bobby’s got me booked Wednesday and Thursday nights.”

Nathan chuckles and they start walking again.

“What?” she asks. “That wasn’t even remotely funny.”

“Oh, he is _so_ gonna try and charm you,” Nathan says knowingly.

“No!” she protests weakly. “It’s _business_. We have to go through the contracts and get them signed off.”

“Yeah maybe at _one_ of the dinners with the lawyers in tow. But the other one? Be prepared for a Bobby charm offensive. I kinda wondered why he was handling this. It should be the marketing guys. Now I get it.”

“He did mention them at one point; the marketing people,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Then he got a look at how gorgeous you are and decided to keep you to himself!”

“No!” she protests. “We haven’t even met yet. So, he has no idea what I look like … not that I think I … I mean …”

Digging through his bag, Nathan comes up with his phone and starts to type.

“Oh, shut up already Sawyer! Geeze. You and this modesty thing! That certainly hasn’t changed. And the mad thing is you still believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“That you’re just an average kinda girl. At high school you were seriously hot. If you need no other evidence to believe it, you must know that I would not have dated you if you were not seriously hot. But now? God, you are …” he pauses and thinks for a moment. “You are _breathtaking._ And I can say that because … well … because one day soon you’re gonna be my best friend again. So, I’m just allowed!”

“I would really like that,” she smiles at him, her eyes shining.

“Being breathtaking?” he teases.

“Being your best friend again,” she says hitting his arm.

“See this?” he says, showing her his phone.

“That’s me,” she says in surprise, looking at the phone on his screen.

“And that’s the photo that Bobby no doubt saw when he contacted you through your gallery website. Baker Sawyer Gallery in LA, right?”

“How’d you …?”

He points to her leather satchel with the gallery logo embossed on it.

“Oh. You’re so much smarter than you used to be, Nathan Scott!”

“Let’s not forget that I got a college degree, and you didn’t,” he replies with a smirk.

“You might want to wait until you hear about my last six years before you go making one-upmanship sorts of statements like that, Nathan Scott. So … um … Bobby?”

“What about Bobby?” he asks, playing dumb.

“Well … you know … we’ve had some very … amusing phone chats,” she says coyly. “He sounds kind of cool, smart, funny.”

“He is both smart and funny,” Nathan agrees. “Probably not so much in the cool department.”

“Please don’t tell me he’s sixty and balding?” she begs.

“What do you think he’s like?”

“Ooh. Let me think. Probably tall. Tall enough to have played ball but not tall enough to make it as a top-level player. Maybe just on 6 feet? Maybe early 30s? Mid 30s at most? Open face; smiles a lot. Nice laugh. Tough when he has to be. But fair. No idea on hair. Maybe ... dark blond or light brown but not really a distinctive colour. Please not balding. And really no idea on eyes. Except that he laughs a lot, so they probably sparkle. How’d I do?”

“Oh my God. Be still my beating heart!” he teases her, clasping his hands to his chest. “Is he a basketball coach or a matinee idol?”

“Nathan!”

“Actually, you’re pretty close,” he concedes. “He’s a good guy. Really good guy. And I’m not going to offer to set you up because I really don’t think you need my help on this one. And besides, that would be just too risky for me.”

“What? Why would it be _risky_? What are you trying to say about me?”

“Not about _you!_ Or _him_. Look. I set you up. It all goes well. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. Distance relationship. Try really hard. Think it’s all okay. Falls apart due to distance ‘cos it’s freaking hard _... as you well know_. Coach blames player who set him up in the first place. Makes my life crap. Rides my ass even harder at practice. Benches me for the slightest thing. Nope. I am keeping well clear of that mess, thank you very much. Anyway, like I said, he is _so_ out to charm you. If you’re interested, you won’t need a matchmaker, trust me.”

By the end of his rant, she’s laughing hard.

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence anyway!” she jokes as they come to the exit doors and head out into the carpark.

“Oh great,” she says, “after my daily exercise, there’s my car at last!”

“Well, it’s no Comet” he comments drily. “Rental I guess?”

“Yeah. So boring,” she agrees.

“You still have it? The Comet?”

“I do. It’s kind of a once-a-month Sunday drive car now though,” she admits. He’s just inordinately pleased she still has it. He has _very_ fond memories of that car. And of her driving it. And of them in the backseat and … yeah. “So, you’re jumping in and I’ll drop you back to your car, yeah?”

He agrees and is soon directing her as she drives.

“Head out onto the street and around to the right; we’ll go around the stadium to the staff/player secure parking. I’ll introduce you to the security manager. He’ll still be there. Then you should be okay to get in there in the morning. So … if Bobby is _charming_ you Wednesday and Thursday nights,” he grins suggestively, and she rolls her eyes at him, “how about tomorrow night for us to catch up?”

“Perfect,” she agrees. “You can have dinner with my Dad and Jules and me. It’ll have to be early though.”

“Your Dad?” he gulps. “Oh, hell no …”

“Why not?” she asks. “Dad and Jules will head off early then we can catch you up on my last six years.”

“Your Dad? He’s here?”  
“He lives in Charlotte now,” she tells him. “He went to Wilmington after Tree Hill, but he hated it. He’s been here three years.”

“Larry Sawyer, who gave me the best evil eye stares for what … a year and a half? And you think I want to have dinner with that?”

“Well, you _were_ kind of a jerk to his little girl!” she laughs at him. “And no, I think you want to have dinner with _me_ , and hear _my_ six-year tale of woe!”

“I _was_ an ass to his daughter,” he says honestly. “Absolutely. And I don’t need Papa Sawyer reminding me of it, thank you very much.”

“He’ll be fine. I promise. He’s really quite mellow these days. Jules has turned him into a teddy bear.”

Nathan doesn’t want to ask but assumes Jules is Larry’s girlfriend or wife, that she forms part of the ‘six-year tale of woe’. He can wait to find that out; it’s only a day.

“Well … okay,” he concedes. “But the first sign of that evil eye stare and I’m outta there!”

“Just as long as you use the door and not a second story window like you used to!” she teases.

“If your bedroom had been on the ground floor with a door, I wouldn’t have had to use the second story window!” he fires back.

“Your brother had a room like that, and didn’t it take him until he was what … nearly seventeen to benefit from it?”

She claps her hand to her mouth, looking guilty for making fun of the blond Scott, but Nathan laughs, reaches for her hand and forms it into a fist with his own fingers then holds her fist up and bumps his other fist into hers.

“Okay – just pull in here and pop your window down.”

“Evening Miss,” the uniformed security officer says pleasantly.

Nathan leans over the centre console and greets him. “Hey Frank.”

“Oh. Hey Nate. What’s up?”

“Frank, this is Peyton Sawyer, the artist that’s working with the team this week. She was round in the visitor park today ‘cos no one organized her a space at this end. Okay if she comes right in this gate tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. I’ll leave your plate details in the security log, Miss. And if you take this pass, you’ll be all set.”

“Thanks so much, Frank,” she smiles warmly. “That’s a huge help for tomorrow.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’” he winks as she drives through.

“Another member of the Peyton Sawyer fan club,” Nathan laughs. “You’ll have as many as me, soon.”

“Alright, Scott,” she says, thumping his arm. “Let me see if I can guess which car yours is.”

She scans the couple of dozen vehicles then drives straight to a brand new midnight blue Range Rover.

“How’d I do?” she asks, knowing she’s got it just right.

“I don’t even want to know how you guessed that,” he laughs. “You’re a witch as well as a bitch!”

“Love you too buddy!”

He turns in his seat and pulls her in to a massive hug.

“Right back at ya. So … I may not see you tomorrow if you’ve got individual sittings all day. Give me your phone and I’ll plug in my cell number. You’ll text me where and when for dinner?”

“Your number changed?”

“Yeah …”

“So even if I _had_ been trying to keep in touch over the last six years …” she teases.

He sighs and drags his hand through his hair.

“When I got out of that wheelchair and stood up by myself for more than a minute, for the first time, I decided to start again … with people as well as with my life,” he says with a bit of a cringe, thinking this sounds nuts. “I smashed up my phone, threw it out and got a new one and completely started over with contacts. They didn’t go in unless there was a reason for them to. I know that probably sounds harsh …”

Peyton grabs his hand.

“No. It doesn’t, Nathan. It sounds courageous and sure, a little bit ruthless. But I really do get it. I think when we catch you up on me, you’ll see that I do.”

He looks curious. “Are you okay, Peyton?”

“Yeah, I really am … _now_ ,” she assures him. “And I’ll tell you, I promise. And I know we’re starting over, but I am _truly_ sorry I wasn’t there for you. I know a few cards and letters really wasn’t enough. I should have done more.”

“Cards? Letters?” he asks, looking confused.

“I know it’s old fashioned, but I love them,” she sighs. “I … I guess maybe they weren’t your thing?”

“Peyton, I never got ... I got one card from you right after the accident. But that’s all.”

“No!” she denies. “I must have sent … wow … I dunno … a dozen or so? I … I drew all these little … and made them into cards.”

He looks shell shocked, then she literally sees realisation on his face.

“To the house?” he asks.

“Well, yeah, of course.”

“Haley didn’t pass them on,” he says with a resigned sigh.

“But I thought you said _she_ left?” she asks, frowning and trying to remember exactly what he had described.

“I meant she left the marriage and … me. As soon as it was clear that she was done, I moved out to the beach house and she stayed in the house.”

“Oh Nathan. I’m so sorry. God, you must’ve thought I really was a hard-hearted bitch. I’d never have …”

“Hey … look … let’s not go there. We’re here now. Your whole ‘ _no why didn’t yous_ ’ idea? Best way forward, I reckon. Deal?”

“Deal. But if I ever see your ex-wife again, can I kick her ass?”

“Can I watch? And can it be in jello pit?”

“You’re gross! And still sixteen, I think. Okay bud. I’ll text you details for dinner.”


	3. In Which Nathan Meets Jules, Re-Meets Larry Sawyer & Finds Out All About Peyton's Last Six Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I was so mad at myself for wasting a whole year pining over what might have been, and missing him, and regretting everything in that hotel room, and spending a whole year wishing I’d said yes. Even though he just … didn’t even tell me about the book and was obviously moving on. So, so mad that I was crying. Like, floods of tears. But then, right outside the bookstore, with me all red eyed and dripping tears everywhere, I met Julian. And that? That was the actual sign.”

Peyton finally meets Bobby Irons face to face late afternoon the next day, having completed her second day of player portrait sketches ahead of schedule. Nathan’s right: the Bobcats’ coach is a real charmer and when he turns his wide, genuine smile and warm gaze on Peyton she definitely feels a little sparkle.

She’s very conscious that, while she’s working up and down the sideline taking photographs of the guys as they run through a casual, low level work out, Bobby seems to be watching her almost as much as he’s watching the guys. She can’t say she minds.

He shouts a few instructions at the team after a while then wanders over to where she’s crouched down at her camera bag, swapping out the memory stick.

“They’re looking very relaxed,” she comments as she stands.

“Yeah, it’s not really a practice,” he nods, “just getting back into the swing of things. Giving the rookies a chance to get to know everyone on the court, where they’re most comfortable.”  
“Nice,” she nods.

A smartly dressed young woman approaches and hands a clipboard to Bobby, murmurs a few words and points out a couple of items to him. He thanks her, tells her he’ll have it back to her within a day, and returns his attention to Peyton.

“Numbers,” he explains.

“The coach is involved in accounts too?” she asks, looking confused.

“Accounts? Oh,” he chuckles, “not those numbers. Jersey numbers.”

“Oh, right,” she laughs. “Funny, I was talking about jersey numbers with Nathan during his portrait session.”

“Well, he’s one of the ones I need to allocate. He hasn’t put in any preferences like a couple of the others have.”  
“You try to accommodate their requests?”  
“Where I can. Sometimes it’s just not possible,” he says, casting his gaze down the page. “And sometimes I think it’s maybe a little unwise to indulge superstition,” he adds.

“And he … Nathan … didn’t make any requests?”  
“Nope,” he says while looking at her quizzically. “Why do I get the feeling you might have something to say about this, Peyton Sawyer?”

“Because you’re terribly smart and intuitive?” she teases, maybe flirting just a little.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he laughs. “What are you thinking?”  
“I think he’d love it if he could wear 23.”  
“23?”  
“His old high school number,” she explains.

“Hmmm,” he muses as he flips over a couple of pages and runs his forefinger down a column of numbers. “We could do that. We haven’t had a 23 for a long time now.”

“Really? That would be so great!” she enthuses, her hand coming to rest on his forearm.

His gaze rests on her hand for moment then comes up to meet hers.

“I’ll let Nathan know then,” he says, not breaking the connection with her green eyes.

“Let me know what?”

Nathan’s standing right in front of them, wiping a little sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes resting on Peyton’s hand, where it still lays on Bobby’s forearm, then looking at his coach appraisingly. Bobby returns the stare for a moment before gesturing with his clipboard.

“Jersey numbers,” he eventually says.

“Right,” Nathan answers, looking between the two of them.  
“You didn’t make any requests,” Bobby continues. Nathan merely shrugs.

“23’s available,” Bobby informs him, “if you want it.”

Nathan looks at Peyton right away and she tilts her head and shrugs her shoulders at him, smiling hesitantly. He looks back at Bobby.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I want it.”

“Done, then,” Bobby says mildly, making a note on the page. “And I want you back on that court.”

“Geeze,” Nathan responds, “it’s not even a real practice. Already riding my ass?”

“That’s what they pay me the big bucks for, Scott.”

Nathan laughs and throws a mock salute at Bobby, then a vaguely knowing look.

“Still on for dinner?” he asks, turning to Peyton as she raises her camera and fires off a rapid burst of shots as someone goes up with a strong layup and a burst of laughter from the guys echoes around. She nods, her focus not straying from her task, then starts walking away from the guys, telling Nathan she’ll just wait until he’s done.

Bobby and Nathan stand for a moment, both watching her, then Nathan fires one long challenging look at his coach before he jogs back into the game.

  
  


They go in one car, after practice is over and Nathan’s hit the shower. The restaurant and bar are nearby and it’s a quick trip. As they arrive, and are walking from the car to the restaurant, Peyton nudges him in the side with her elbow.

“You’re quiet,” she observes. “Tough getting back into it, even if it wasn’t a major practice?”

“Nope. Just … this is weird,” he admits with a wry smile. “Seeing your father again. I feel like a nervous teenager.”

“You wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been such an ass way back then!” she laughs, patting his arm.

“Don’t remind me,” he pleads with a grimace.

“I mean,” she says laughing, “the very first time he met you, you were climbing out my bedroom window.”

“No ... I _really_ mean it,” he says with an embarrassed grimace. “ _Don’t_ remind me!”

“I told you; he’s totally chilled out now. Jules has really mellowed him out.”

“That must be weird for you,” he says carefully. “Him having a what? Girlfriend? Partner? Or … are they married?”

“What?” she laughs. “My Dad doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“But you said Jules …”

Her eyes widen, and her hand half raises as if she’s about to clap it over her mouth, but then she touches his arm again. Gently. Meets his confused gaze.

“Nate, I’m sorry,” she rushes out. “It’s so long since I had to _explain_ Jules to anyone; everyone in my life just kn _ows_. I didn’t think. Jules isn’t my Dad’s girlfriend. She’s …”

“Yours?” he asks, eyebrows both raised. “That’s … unexpected. But hey, I’m liberal and that’s … potentially kind of hot,” he continues with a wicked gleam in his eye. “So, all those Tree Hill High boys fantasizing about P. Sawyer and B. Davis together at one time … not so far off the mark?”

“What!? Seriously?” she splutters. “ _You? Liberal?_ You’re the most _traditional_ guy I know when it comes to this stuff. And _really?_ Your memory must be really failing you if you think I’m into girls that way. Jules isn’t my _lover,_ you idiot; she’s my _daughter_. Now … turn off that ridiculous fantasy you’ve got running through your head and c’mon and meet her. She’s awesome. You’re gonna love her.”

And as Peyton walks in front of him through the restaurant door, the total shock of her news kind of pinning his feet to the ground for a couple of seconds before he leaps to catch her up, he can’t help but notice that as she speaks of Jules, her step lightens even more and she’s almost … bouncy? And that lightness of step and energy makes him sweep his gaze down over her, and that means he notices the swing of hips and … oh ... those legs.

Peyton Sawyer has a daughter? That swirls around in his head but is quickly overtaken by an echo of the sound of her voice saying _lover_ , with a gentle drawl and a roll of the r, which swirls around in his head until he shakes it away and follows her towards the table where Larry and Jules are already waiting.

Larry stands when they arrive and shakes Nathan’s hand with a smile that seems to the younger man to be genuine.

“Nathan. Long time.”

There is something about Larry Sawyer’s tone, though, that makes Nathan’s head flip back a few years.

“Mr Sawyer,” he replies, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“Relax,” Larry says with an amused chuckle. “I didn’t bring the shotgun.”

Nathan looks from Larry to Peyton and back, then grimaces.

“Yeah. I had that coming, I think.”

“Indeed,” Larry says looking over at Juliet to see if she’s watching. She’s engrossed in her colouring so he looks Nathan square in the eye. “You were an _arse_ ,” he mouths the last word, “to my daughter.”

“Dad!” she protests.

“No,” Nathan cuts in, his hand resting on her shoulder for just a moment, his eyes meeting Larry’s without flinching. “Peyton and I have already said exactly that. It’s true. I was. Not my finest moments at all. I don’t think I’d be gracious enough to be having dinner with me if I was in your position.”

“Well,” Larry responds, eyeing the younger man thoughtfully, “I’m very aware that you didn’t exactly have the finest parental examples. And I still know people in Tree Hill, so I know all about your accident, your rehab and … well … the lack of support you had at that time. You’ve clearly dragged yourself out of a pretty big hole and I admire that. Besides, I’d be kind of a hypocrite if I wasn’t at least prepared to see what sort of man you’ve become. After all, I was the ultimate absentee father. If I’d been around more …”

“Dad! We’re not going there,” Peyton interrupts, gesturing to the table. “Now ... let’s just have a nice evening.”

“Anyway,” says Larry, patting his daughter reassuringly on the arm, “from what I’m hearing, I think we’ll get along just fine now, but let’s just enjoy dinner and a couple of beers and see where we get to, huh?

“That sounds like a plan, Mr Sawyer.”

“Please,” the older man protests mildly. “It’s Larry.”

“Yeah. I think I’ll stick with Mr Sawyer,” Nathan demurs. “You were always a little intimidating.”

“What? When I did this face?”

He does an exact rendition of the stern, disapproving face he used to wear whenever he encountered Nathan in his home.

“Oh boy,” Nathan laughs, “yup, that’s the one.”

“Good to know I still have it,” Larry grins. “I can break it out in another thirteen years when Juliet’s dating.”

“That’s _23 years_ , thanks,” laughs Peyton. “ _At least_. And what do you mean ‘break it out’? Are you telling me that face was _rehearsed_?”  
“Hell yes! In the bathroom mirror, daily. Just for this one,” he says indicating Nathan, who cringes playfully.

“Dad! Leave him alone!”

Juliet looks up at that point, grabs Peyton’s hand and pulls her down to whisper in her ear. Peyton laughs and nods, looking at Nathan.

“Yes, poppet. I think now would be a great time for you to do your introduction to Nate.”

The girl hops up from her seat and approaches Nathan. She is the spitting image of Peyton when she was younger. Blonde curls, green eyes, all arms and legs and an eyebrow that quirks up in the cutest way. She holds out her hand and speaks quietly but confidently.

“Hi. I’m Juliet Sawyer Baker.”

Nathan takes her hand, smiles at how teeny tiny it is within his own, and shakes it very seriously.

“Hello, Juliet Sawyer Baker. I’m Nathan Scott and it’s very nice to meet you.”

“My Mommy called you Nate,” the mini Peyton observes, looking up at him. “Is that a nickname for Nathan?”

“Sure is.”

“Do you _like_ being called Nate?” she asks curiously.

He tilts his head, pretending to think about this for a moment. “Hmm. I think I like it when my friends call me Nate, but I don’t like it when new people think they can call me Nate straight away.”

She giggles at that, then nods very seriously.

“I like it when my friends call me Jules, but not when _new_ people think they can call me Jules.”

“Well, how about I promise to call you Juliet until you tell me I’m allowed to call you Jules, and I’ll tell you when you’re allowed to call me Nate. Is that a deal?” he asks, holding out his fist.

Juliet pauses and looks at her mother, seemingly asking for a green light, then smiling when Peyton nods. So, the girl bumps Nathan’s fist and agrees.

“Deal.”

She leans in and speaks in what she clearly thinks is a quiet voice.

“I wasn’t really unsure. It’s just my Mom says I have to check with her before I make deals.”

“Fair enough,” Nathan says gravely. “Your Mom is very smart.”

“Yes, she is,” Juliet agrees equally seriously. “She says when I’m much older, I should have a lawyer make my deals like she does with her lawyer, but until then, she’s got my back.”

Nathan laughs. “Well, _Juliet_ ,” he says her name very carefully, with a little wink that makes her giggle again, “I can tell you from my own experience; the world doesn’t stand a chance when Peyton Sawyer has your back.”

She nods and hops back to her seat.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, Pickle?”

“Can I listen to music from your phone?”

“Well you _could_ ,” Peyton says thoughtfully, “but don’t you want to talk to our guest?”  
“Can I talk to Nathan when our dinner arrives?” Juliet asks cheerily, with a scrunched-up nose. “You probably just want to talk about boring grown up stuff anyway.”

“Well … that is true. I guess it will be okay.”

“Juliet, can I ask you one thing before you tune out the boring grown-up talk?” Nathan asks.

“Sure,” she says with a gorgeous smile and a little nod.

“Why does your Mom call you Pickle?”

The young girl giggles, yet again, and he wonders if Peyton was this lighthearted and effervescent at the same age. By the time he really came to know her in any way more than just as a classmate, and a girl at that, back when girls were still aliens (aliens with cooties even), she was already without her own Mom and battling the world. Juliet looks at her mother, who grins widely and nods her permission to tell the story.

“Because when I was in her tummy, she ate pickles,” the girl says, clearly horrified. “All. The. Time. How gross is that?”

Nathan laughs, shakes his head and looks at Peyton, who is herself pulling a face as if she has a sour pickle in her mouth right then.

“That is _so_ gross. Seriously, Sawyer?”

“Oh yeah,” she grimaces with an accompanying little shudder. “Had to have commercial sized jars of the things. _So_ disgusting. Haven’t been able to look at them since. Alrighty, Miss Juliet, here’s my phone and earbuds. Knock yourself out. What’s it gonna be?”

Juliet puts in one of the earbuds while she ponders.

“I’m feeling Motown!”

Nathan looks at Peyton again and mouths _feeling Motown?_ at an amused look.

“That’s my kid. 3 going on 16 and ‘feeling Motown’,” Peyton laughs. “Tomorrow she’ll be ‘feeling indie rock’ and the day after ‘feeling old-school hip-hop’, which is my least favourite day of the Juliet Sawyer Baker music roster, I must say.”

“Old school hip hop?” he chuckles. “Your kid rocks, Sawyer.”

“Told you you’d love her. But then … how could you not? She’s my mini-me!”

“So … Nathan,” her father says, after taking a sip from his beer. “Tell me about this comeback … that’s a pretty impressive feat.”

The three adults talk over an enjoyable drink and Nathan finds it both surprising and pleasing that Mr Sawyer - _Larry_ \- truly seems to hold no grudges. Maybe Peyton’s infinitely deep well of forgiveness comes from her Dad. While they eat, and afterwards, Juliet participates in their chat. And he finds himself completely besotted with the little girl by the end of dessert, an ice cream sundae for her, of course. With chocolate sauce and sprinkles. Of course.

After dinner, the older man stands, holding his hand out to his granddaughter.

“Right Jules. It’s time for the youngest and the oldest of this little party to get home, let your Mom and Nathan catch up for a bit.”

“Thanks Dad,” Peyton says with a genuinely warm smile. “I won’t be too late. And you,” she says, with a gentle prod in her daughter’s side, “you be good for Grandad, young lady.”

“I’m always good,” her daughter replies chirpily.

Peyton merely quirks her eyebrow at Juliet.

“I’m _almost_ always good!” her daughter amends with a winning smile. “Mommy?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have you known Nathan?”

“Oh wow … I guess we’ve known each other kind of just a little bit since we started grade school, so we weren’t much older than you, but we didn’t know each other well enough to say we were friends until we were older ... about 9 or 10? So about 15 years properly.”

“That’s much more than me.”

“It is, Pickle.”

“But you haven’t seen Nathan for a long time?”

“That’s right … about 6 years.”

“That’s still more than me. Is it nice to see each other again after a long time?” she asks, looking between them.

Peyton smiles and nods. Her daughter looks up at Nathan, awaiting his reply.

“It is _really_ nice to see each other again after a long time,” he tells her. “Your Mom was a really good friend to me back then and seeing her again makes me realise just how much I missed her. I hope I get to see more of her ... and _much_ more of you. I think you and I need to have a full-on old-school hip-hop session.”

Juliet’s eyes light up and she tugs on her Mom’s hand.

“Can we Mommy?”

Peyton laughs, rolling her eyes in a gesture that takes Nathan right back to high school.

“I am sooo not liking this ganging up on the hip-hop thing! But yes, Pickle, we can certainly arrange for you to see more of Nathan and get all pally over hip-hop. But you know the rules; no rap with bad words until you’re older!”

Larry and Juliet make to leave, but after a few steps the girl slips her little hand out of her grandfather’s and runs back and throws her arms around Nathan’s legs for a hug, then skips off telling her mother over her shoulder that she has to come in and kiss her good night, even if Juliet is asleep when Peyton gets home to Grandad’s.

Peyton and Nathan head to the bar to find a comfy corner with a couple of armchairs and sink into the chairs with a drink.

“Wow!” she says, with a bright smile that has him shaking his head. Where is the scared, moody girl he used to know?

“Wow is right,” he agrees. “You weren’t wrong; she is seriously awesome.”

“No. I mean ... _wow_ , she’s no wallflower, as you can see, but she does _not_ usually take to new grown-ups like that.”

The trademark Nathan Scott smirk flashes across his face. “Well … we Scott boys did always have a way with Sawyer girls.”

He then looks a bit concerned and reaches out to touch her hand briefly.

“Sorry. I mean … is that … awkward?”

“Why would it be awkward?” she asks, looking rather bamboozled. “You and I dated, Nate, but it hasn’t been awkward for a long, long time.”

“No, I meant ...”

“Lucas?” she shrugs. “Not awkward.”

“Promise?”

“Totally,” she smiles with a relaxed look. “So, tell me … how did Nathan Scott get so good with kids?”

“Lotsa practice.”

“How?”

“Since I had three little cousins,” he replies with a cheery smile that crinkles his eyes and warms his voice.

“Who?” she asks, then realization dawns on her within a moment and her eyes widen. “No! _Cooper_ has kids?”

“Ages 6, 4 and 2.5. I see them all the time. They live here in Charlotte.”

“No way!” she says, still in disbelief. “Nope. Sorry. Cannot imagine Hot Uncle Cooper with kids.”

“Nah. He’s an amazing Dad,” Nathan tells her. “And Bron’s great. You’d love her.”

“Still … so hard to picture,” she chuckles, shaking her head in emphasis.

“You here for the weekend?” he asks her thoughtfully.

“Probably until Monday night,” she nods. “Maybe Tuesday.”

“Come and meet them,” he suggests. “There’s a family BBQ on Sunday night.”

“Oh no,” she demurs, shaking her head. “I couldn’t intrude on a family dinner.”

“Seriously Sawyer, Coop’d love to see you,” he enthuses. “And my Mom. And you’ll really love Bron – guarantee it. If you’re gonna be in Charlotte a bit with this merchandising thing, it’d be cool to have another chick to hang out with, yeah?”

“ _Chick_? What are you, lost in the 70s?”

“Come on … go with me,” he says with a wheedling tone. “Bring Juliet, she’ll have fun with Coop and Bron’s brood.”

She eyes him for a moment and he just nods at her, lifting his eyebrows a couple of times in encouragement. She laughs and finds herself nodding along with him.

“Okay. I’ll agree to go _if_ you check with them first.”

“Done. So, book it ‘cos it’ll be fine.”

“Nathan Scott … all ensconced in family life. So … you and Haley didn’t …?” she halts, still not exactly sure how much he can or can’t, will or won’t talk about his wife. Ex-wife.

“Talk about having kids?” he guesses. “Oh, we did. And I thought we were trying.”

“Oh ... yeah, you said yesterday you were talking about kids. But … um … how do you _think_ you’re trying? I mean … isn’t it you are, or you aren’t?”

He rolls his eyes in agreement.

“You have the discussion, you agree that you both want children and that you’re ready, and you stop restocking the nightstand drawer with … um … _supplies_ … and … and then you _don’t_ get pregnant. And then months later your wife drops her purse and her birth control pills, that you didn’t even know she was taking, fly out. That’s how you _think_ you’re trying.”

Peyton’s hand drops to his thigh and she unthinkingly rubs circles for a few moments, before realizing how intimate that action is and carefully withdrawing her hand.

“Oh God. Nathan. I’m sorry. I … I would never have thought Haley would …”

“Yeah. You and me both,” he interrupts, sensing her discomfort. “But like I said yesterday, she wasn’t the Haley we knew and loved. Not then. Anyway … we did the Nathan baring his soul thing yesterday … you promised me your story tonight so let’s go, Sawyer … spill your guts, girl!”

“Okay. Well. Where do I start?”

“I guess, where we last saw each other before now. Nearly six years ago, when you came back to Tree Hill to pack up your stuff.”

Their thoughts both drift to that weekend, when they’d both would up visiting their hometown for a few days, he from Gilmore and she from LA.

_He wasn’t even supposed to be in Tree Hill that weekend, but it was his Mom’s birthday a couple of days earlier and when he phoned to say happy birthday, she’d mentioned that Cooper was coming in for the weekend to have a slightly belated birthday dinner with his sister. He hadn’t seen his uncle in … forever … and Haley had pushed him to go visit. He’d really wanted her to come too, but she said that with Lucas away on his book tour, it was the ideal time for her to get some peace and quiet over a summer weekend, and to get a jump start on her next semester’s reading. So, he came back to his hometown alone._

_He was out for an early morning run, before it got too hot, and after a half hour or so found he was running past the Sawyer residence. He was almost past it when he noticed that a light was on in the upstairs bedroom that he’d spent so much time in years before. Weird. He stopped, hands on hips, breathing hard, wondering what was up. Peyton was in LA. Larry Sawyer would be out to sea, and even if he was back, he wouldn’t be up this early. He was notorious for sleeping in when he was back; Peyton got that behavior from him. He thought for a moment then retraced his steps and went up the path. When he tried the front door, it was unlocked._

_The entire downstairs was just as it had been the last time he was here, just before Peyton left town after graduation. It felt like that ghost ship he’d seen on a TV documentary … what was it? The Marie something? Intact, but abandoned. There was no loud music coming down the stairs, so he knew it wasn’t Sawyer herself up in that room. He was up the stairs and standing in the bedroom doorway before he even thought that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea._

_Her room had been ransacked. There was stuff everywhere; on the bed, on the floor, piled on the desk, tumbling out of the closet doors. It was an absolute shambles. It suddenly occurred to him that it was possible it was that nut job that stalked her in high school. He was supposed to be in jail but …_

_Nathan peered around the doorframe but couldn’t see anyone in the room itself. The closet door with the Lucas + Peyton TLA carved into it was open enough that he could see there was no one in the closet either. Just as he was about to leave, thinking he’d switch off the light, lock the door on the way out and ask his Mom if she knew anyone who could get in touch with Peyton’s Dad, the bathroom door opened. He held his breathe. A burglar or psycho ransacker that had to pee? You never saw that in the movies. Somehow the thought of them doing this to her room then using her bathroom made him steaming mad. Then he realized actual steam was coming out of the open doorway. They’d used her shower too? That was it. He stepped into the room, grabbed the heavy bedside lamp, ripping the plug out of the socket._

_“Get out here where I can see you, you asshole,” he yelled out. “I’m armed.”_

_For an instant, her heart hammered but then she realized she knew that voice. She walked out, hands in the air in mock surrender then couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him._

_“Armed? With a lamp?” she scoffed. “Who are you? Aladdin?”_

_“Sawyer?” His mouth fell open. “You’re in LA.”_

_“Nope. Hey Nate.”_

_“Get over here!” he said, putting the lamp back on the nightstand without even looking and holding his arms open._

_She launched herself into his hug, held on for a long time while he swung her up a bit by leaning back. And for a little longer after her feet were back on the carpeted floor before she stepped back._

_“You look good, 23.”_

_“You too,” he said with a devilish grin. “The red’s working for me. Nice matching too.”_

_She looked down and realized she was in just her underwear; red boycut briefs and a funky matching bra that mixed cotton and lace. She laughed, shrugged, walked to the bed completely unselfconsciously and grabbed some jeans. As she stepped into them, she looked back over her shoulder._

_“What?” she said._

_“I dunno. Aren’t you supposed to ...?”  
“What? Be embarrassed? Geeze, Nathan, you’ve known me most of my life, and you’ve seen me in way less. Besides you’re safe; you’re a married man. How’s Haley? Why are you two here?” she asked, pulling a little tank top over her head._

_“She’s not. Just me,” he replied. “It’s my Mom’s birthday and Coop’s in town so I thought I’d come back for a few days. Family dinner and all. Haven’t seen either of them for ages.”_

_“Nice.”_

_“You? Are you back?” he asked, sounding hopeful. “I thought someone had ransacked your room. You just unpacking?”_

_“No. Exact opposite. Hey!” she exclaimed as she pulled an old Ravens T-shirt, possibly one of his by the looks of it, over her head, “I came in really late last night and had a crap night’s sleep. I need coffee badly; you want one?”_

_“Uh … yeah ... sure.”  
So he followed her down to the kitchen, where she efficiently made them both coffee, remembering exactly how he liked it._

_“Opposite of being back?” he asked once they were seated at the table, with mugs in front of them._

_“Yeah. My Dad’s sold the house to a young guy he works with that was looking for a family home in a nice small town. So, I’m sorting out my stuff. Some to ship to LA, the rest to chuck out.”_

_“Oh. Wow,” he replied, looking down at his coffee contemplatively._

_“What? You sound …”_

_“Disappointed?” he supplied. “Yeah. It’s not Tree Hill without Peyton Sawyer.”_

_“You don’t even live here!” she protested. “Neither does anyone else.”_

_“Yeah, but … I dunno … I figured we’d all be back eventually, after college and stuff.”_

_“Not me,” she shrugged, taking a cautious sip of the still scalding coffee._

_“LA’s that good?”_

_She laughed drily._

_“What? Sawyer?”_

_“LA sucks,” she said, then blew across her mug and took a longer sip of coffee, while she considered her own statement. She hadn’t actually said that to anyone, but she’d never felt the need to lie to this guy. Not when they were dating, and not when they were such good friends afterwards. In fact, maybe ‘brutal honesty’ was the way to describe the tone of the way they’d been both boyfriend/girlfriend and friends._

_“Then why are you shipping the best bits of your life from here to LA?”  
“It’s where I live,” she responded, shrugging again, “in my shitty little apartment. It’s where I work at my shitty assistant to the assistant job in the crappy LA music business that has no soul and less integrity. It’s where some of my friends are. It’s home.”_

_“Geeze, don’t oversell it, girl!”_

_She shrugged again, and he could see, under the genuine happiness at seeing him and under the dark sarcasm about her life, that actually she was deeply, deeply sad. He couldn’t recall her ever shrugging so many times in such a short period before either. She’s never been someone that just shrugged her way out of a decision or an opinion._

_“Maybe you should come back then,” he said._

_“Oh yeah. I’ll do that,” she said sarcastically. “Tree Hill. Location where I experienced my Mom’s death, my birth Mom’s death, being shot at in school, being stalked and attacked by a freaking psycho, twice. Tree Hill, where I was raised by an absentee father and where my family home has now been sold. Yup. Home sweet home in Tree Hill.”_

_She laughed almost bitterly. “Enough, Nate. Let’s talk about something good. How are you? How’s Hales? How’s Gilmore? You’re kicking ass on that court. I’ve seen your stats.”_

_“You have?”_

_“Sure. I follow a bit.”_

_They talked for a while about college, where he was actually surprising everyone and maintaining a solid B average despite the other demands on his time and yes, kicking ass on the court. He told her there was already talk of NBA scouts visiting Gilmore for the first time ever. She grinned at that and jumped up to hug him tightly._

_“That’s awesome! I always knew you could do it, Nathan.”_

_He nodded, looking at her with an appreciation that he hadn’t had at the time. “You did,” he said, nodding with slightly pursed lips. “You always said that. Way before anyone else did.”_

_She drained her coffee and turned to deposit her mug in the sink. “Well, I really need to get into packing and stuff. I’ve only got today and tomorrow. Early flight Monday. But … is your family dinner tonight?”_

_“Yeah. You wanna come?”_

_“Oh God, no! I wasn’t fishing for an invitation. Just ... you wanna come over tomorrow night? Beer and pizza? My treat.”_

_“What’s the catch?”  
“No catch!”_

_“Sawyer,” he laughed. “I know that look.”_

_“Well,” she conceded with another shrug, but it was cute one not a despondent one. “I promise I’ll do my best to be finished, but if I’m not, maybe I’ll borrow those muscles for a bit before I feed you?”_

_“Deal. Early then? 6ish?”  
“Perfect.”_

_She walked him out, hugged him again and stood in the doorway until he was out of sight._

_He really expected to be put to work when he arrived the next night, but she was sitting out on the back porch with a beer already in hand._

_“You’re done?” he asked. “Or skiving off so you can see my muscles at work?”_

_“Done. My whole life from birth to eighteen in boxes labelled SHIP or TRASH. Kind of weird.”_

_“Hard to believe that chaos I saw yesterday is sorted.”  
“Well, when you’re an overworked, underpaid lacky you learn to be efficient and just crack on. C’mon,” she said, putting her beer down and leading him upstairs._

_Sure enough, there was a pile of maybe fifteen boxes labelled SHIP against one wall and a much larger pile labeled TRASH by the closet, which was closed, and which he noticed she had even found the time to paint over. In black. No remnants of the TLA letters at all. She must have backfilled them before applying the coat of paint._

_Back out on the porch they talked nonstop. She asked about college life and Haley, how it was being away from Tree Hill for them, if they were thinking about kids yet. He laughed at that, saying it was enough to be married at seventeen thank you very much, they didn’t need to be parents at college as well. He asked about her apartment and her work and noted the unenthusiastic tone she had for both._

_“I’m thinking,” she said after a short quiet spell, her fingertips picking at the label on the beer bottle, “of getting out of the music business. It’s just not what it should be, not for me anyway. This last week I desperately wanted to get into this meeting where they review new artists ‘cos I found the most amazing band. My boss, John, who FYI is a total dick, said I could go in if I dropped a button. And I was so close to doing it. I hated myself in that moment.”_

_“But you didn’t do it,” he reassured her.  
“No. But I realized … if I stay much longer, I’ll end up hating music as well as myself so …”  
“So change it. Do something else.”_

_“Yeah. I guess I just need the sign, you know?”_

_“I know. Like Whitey getting me into Gilmore,” he mused. “That was my sign that it wasn’t time to give up.”_

_“I need a sign that it is_ _time to give up!” she retorted. And her words from a few moments before sunk in._

_“Don’t hate yourself, Sawyer. You didn’t do it; drop the button. It’s that ‘Peyton Sawyer has integrity’ thing that Luke ...”_

_She grimaced and paled, tilting her face away, and he stopped. Okay. Not a good idea to mention his brother, obviously._

_“So,” he said, thinking a quick subject change was in order. “Lots of hot LA guys? Hollywood types?”_

_“God no,” she said drily. “Sworn off men.”_

_“Wow,” he said thoughtfully, “who made you do that?”_

_She didn’t answer, and he could’ve sworn he saw a tiny wet patch appear on her jeans, but she just shook her head and laughed that dry, dark laugh again._

_“Peyton?”  
“Who do you think, Nathan?” she whispered, looking at him hard._

_“I don’t … am I missing something?” he asked intensely._

_She kept examining him, then realized he really didn’t know who she meant, and then she realized what that must mean._

_“Huh,” she sighed, “I guess I should’ve known.”_

_“Known what?”_

_“What twisted version of the truth did he tell you all? Lucas?”_

_Nathan sat back in his seat, running his hand through his hair. Fuck._

_“That he surprised you in LA after our championship win. Romantic dinner. Extravagant hotel room. He proposed. You refused.”_

_She rolled her eyes, the first typical Peyton Sawyer gesture he’d seen all evening, then drained her beer and went inside to get another couple, one of which she passed to him when she came back out. But she didn’t speak._

_“Peyton,” he pleaded, resting his palm on her knee for just a moment. “Is that_ _not how it was?”_

 _“I suppose you could_ _see it that way,” she replied with a flat tone. “If you were squinting at it.”_

_He chuckled at the clear reference to his brother’s trademark narrowed eye gesture._

_“What way do you see it?” he asked her directly. Those green eyes searched his and he just nodded and waited. After a long minute she sighed, took a long pull from her beer bottle then spoke._

_“He surprised me at work, which was amazing. He booked a romantic dinner, which was a nice idea, but he booked it too early; ‘cos I work till like 9 or 10 every night, which he totally knew. So, of course, I was late, and he was clearly a bit peeved at waiting. And I got called back into work and I had to go. That’s just how it is. I met him at the hotel, really late. Found the ring. Waited for him to wake up, stressing the whole time. He proposed, sure, with this big spiel about how we were drifting apart, and we wouldn’t make it if we kept on as we were.”_

_“So, you said no because you thought it was a band aid proposal?” he pressed when she paused in her monologue._

_“No! I said I loved him. I said I wanted to marry him but that we were too young. I said we had too much we still had to try and do to achieve our dreams. I said someday. Oh … I said in a year. I said to wait a year then get married.”_

_“That’s really not …”  
“What he said? Yeah. I guess I should’ve known when you guys were a bit … cool ... the next few times we talked. I’m lucky you didn’t cut me off completely.”_

_“Sawyer, I’m sorry,” he said, his palm to her knee again, his dark blue eyes catching and holding hers. “I should’ve known. I knew how much you loved him. I should’ve known what he said didn’t ring true.”_

_“Well. It’s done now,” she sighed._

_“You think? I know how much he missed you. Still does.”_

_“Maybe he shouldn’t have left me alone in that hotel room then,” she said, her voice bitter with hurt and regret and loneliness._

_“He … he what?” Nathan asked, his head jerking up._

_“I woke up and he was gone,” she explained._

_Nathan shook his head. “I guess this would be a really bad time to tell you he’s in LA next week for a book signing?”  
“I know,” she said._

_“He called you?” Nathan knew Luke was planning on contacting her to let her know but wasn’t aware he already had._

_“What? No. I just … I saw the poster in a store. It’s actually not that far from where I live.”_

_“He’d love it if you went,” he suggested tentatively._

_“After a year of nothing? I don’t think so.”_

_“It’s not that long,” Nathan chided her gently. “It’s not a year. He let you know about the book being published.”_

_She shrugged dismissively._

_“He didn’t?” Nathan guessed. “Man. That’s … cold. It … hang on … wasn’t it_ _you that sent out the book to publishers?”_

_She shrugged again. But he knew it was._

_“Well,” he said. “I think he’ll call you. At least now you’ll be prepared.”_

_“All I’m prepared for right now,” she answered, getting to her feet, “is pizza. Want the usual?”_

_When he left, she asked him if he was still in town the next day, and when he confirmed he was, asked if he could drop a big box of used canvases into the community centre where volunteers ran an art therapy course for kids. They were always crying out for canvases and would recycle used ones by painting over them in white, so the kids could repaint them. He agreed, of course._

_Their goodbye hug was long and genuine. He was worried about her. She was proud of him. But they were both inordinately pleased to have caught up. He was convinced that his brother would call her, that they’d meet up, that the Lucas and Peyton sparks would be rekindled and that there’d be a Sawyer-Scott wedding in no time. He was looking forward to it already._

_He was halfway to the car, with the box of canvases, when he put it down and returned to the front porch to stand in front of her, rest his large hands firmly on her shoulders and look her dead in the eye._

_“Sawyer? I’m sorry he was such a dick. I really wanted you to be my sister-in-law. But ... keep looking for that sign. It’s coming. I’m sure it is.”_

He remembers, suddenly, as he sits in that Charlotte restaurant bar, that there was one canvas he’d not been able to hand over to the centre. It was still in the guest room closet at his Mom’s house, tucked away in the back. He must get her to ship it to him or go to get it himself maybe.

Her thoughts coming back to the bar also, Peyton smiles. “That was a good weekend,” she says. “I expected it to be really shitty, packing up that stuff, and instead I got to catch up with you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It was cool. But I have to admit, I really was expecting to hear within a few days that you’d gone to the book signing, and the Lucas and Peyton epic romance was back on. He said he called you and you said you were going to go but didn’t show.”

“I showed,” she says calmly, “but he didn’t see me.”

Nathan looks completely baffled at this information.

“You remember saying I should look for the sign? Well, when he called me, my first thought was that that was the sign, you know? We’d see each other, we’d talk, we’d work it out, be friends or … maybe … whatever. But I saw him, from like, the other side of the bookstore, and just then this really pretty brunette girl kissed him and, it was like a ... like a whirlpool, like a … a vortex of drama … I could almost physically feel it pulling me in. And it made me feel ill, like _really_ ill, like I was going to throw up and I just thought, _what the hell am I doing here_? Getting sucked back into this soap opera? So, I left. And so, yeah, I thought _that_ was the sign … to give up on the whole idea of us, me and Lucas.”

She pauses, taking a sip of her drink.

“And I was so _mad_ at myself for wasting a _whole year_ pining over what might have been, and _missing_ him, and regretting _everything_ in that hotel room, and spending a whole year wishing I’d said yes. Even though he just … didn’t even tell me about the book and was obviously moving on. So, _so_ mad that I was crying. Like, _floods_ of tears. But then, right outside the bookstore, with me all red eyed and dripping tears everywhere, I met Julian. And that? That was the _actual_ sign.”

She spins her glass on the coaster a few times, thinking back.

“Well,” Nathan says, “honestly? I think you dodged a bullet by walking away from the book signing.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“When he got back to Gilmore, he was kind of a mess, started going on about Tree Hill, and nothing had ever been the same since leaving and maybe he’d move back and one day you’d come back to there and ... And I said it wouldn’t ever be the same there anyway seeing as though your Dad had sold the house. He freaked out and next thing we know, he’s dating Lindsey, his editor. It was her that you’d have seen at the signing. They weren’t together then though.”

“No? Well … clearly, she was starting to stake a claim. God, _that_ would have been fun if I’d stayed on Tree Hill and we’d … it could have been _another_ love triangle!”

“Yup.”  
“Um … I was joking.”

“It would have been though. Lindsey was all sweetness and light to start with but after a couple of years, she developed really strong anti-Peyton and anti-Brooke tendencies.”

“Why?” she asks aghast. “We weren’t around. She didn’t even meet us.”

“Luke couldn’t write,” Nathan explains. “Totally blocked. I guess Lindsey felt all his inspiration came from you two girls; his two high school loves. She got super paranoid. No one could even mention your names without her getting completely nutso.”

“God, you’re right; bullet well and truly dodged.”

“Her and Haley were close, but when Hales and I split, she went psycho about Hales too,” he admits.

“Hang on,” Peyton says, with a puzzled look on her face. “So, Lucas was still dating her then? When you two split?”

“Yeah.”  
“Just dating? Not …”

“Just dating. So that would have been about three years they were together by then.”

“But why did she get weird about Haley?” she asks, still looking completely bamboozled.

“I guess she thought Haley wasn’t a threat while she was married to me.”

“But Haley and Lucas were best friends, there was nothing …”

“Yeah,” he nods in agreement. “And that’s ultimately what split up Lucas and Lindsey. He took her psycho stuff about you and Brooke, but he wouldn’t take it over Haley.”

“Nice to know Brooke and I both meant so much to him, as good friends once upon a time if nothing else,” she says sarcastically.

“Well Lindsey’s weirdness certainly drove Luke and Hales together,” he says casually.

She looks at him quizzically, picking up on a little _something_ in his tone. “What does that mean? They were always close.”

“Yeah,” he grins, knowing how stunned she’s going to be with what comes next. “But not sleeping together close.”  
“They _didn’t!”_ she exclaims, eyes agog.

“Oh, they did.”

“Ew. That’s just … that’s like when the very first time you realise your parents must’ve had sex to have you. It’s kind of icky.”

He throws his head back and laughs at that. He couldn’t agree more, and not just because Haley had been his wife and Luke was his brother. It _was_ just icky.

“They had a thing, for a few months,” he expands.

“How was that for you?” she asks curiously.  
“I didn’t know for most of the time. It was after we split so I guess it was none of my business, but I kinda think they should’ve told me. I found out eventually, and within a few weeks of that it was over. It’s almost like the secrecy is what made it work. They came damned close to losing their friendship over it. Nearly fifteen years of best friends; just about lost.”

“Wow. Well, I’m glad they saved it,” she says magnanimously. “Why do you think they …?”  
“Haley was a mess, like I said the other day. Depressed, lost. And Lucas was just being a dick, in my view. She’d tell you he was a lost and lonely and just made bad decisions, but I think he was being a dick. At best, he was _thinking_ with his … anyway … we’re supposed to be talking about _you_. And you’re up to meeting … Julian, was it?”

“Right. Julian Baker. Well, I literally crashed into him, he made some smartass remark about me being the _saddest girl in the world_ ‘cos he’d seen me briefly once before, the day after the proposal slash bust up when I was also in floods of tears, and he dragged me off to this fundraiser thing he was having for a movie he was making, and we went from there.”

“Love at first sight? Second sight?”

“Oh, God, no! We just became like, best buds. He got out of me what had happened and that I was crying because I was so freaking angry about that lost time and he said ‘alright then sad _and angry girl,_ what would you do with that year if you had it over now’ and he made me write a list. Like, he sat me down at his breakfast bar the next morning and put a pen in my hand and made me write a list.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Nathan smirks.

“What?” she asks, puzzled.

“First date and you’re at his breakfast bar the next morning.”

“It wasn’t a date,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand.  
“Okay. Pedantic, much? First _hookup_ and you’re at his …”

“No!” she denies strongly. “I told you. Best buds.”

“Okay. I don’t get it,” he says, spreading his hands in confusion. “You’re at his place the next morning and you _didn’t_ go home with him?”  
“No, I did, but we just stayed up talking all night.”

“Right. He pulled the nice guy, _I just want to talk_ card. Good move.”

“No! What don’t you understand about buddies?” she laughs. “We didn’t _date_.”

“Baker? Julian _Baker_. He’s Juliet’s father. Right? What was that? A drunken oncer?”

She laughs, shakes her head. “I need to tell you about the list.”

“The list?”  
“Yup. He made me write a list … things I’d do with that year I spent whining over Lucas if I could have it over, or even things I wanted to do from then onwards. So … I did.”

“And what was on this list?” he asks, with a put on hushed awed tone and placing air quotes around ‘list’.

She reaches into her bag, pulls out her purse, extracts a worn, folded piece of paper and hands it to him. He recognizes her loopy but neat writing and starts reading the list aloud. _  
_“’Stuff to do in no particular order’,” he reads. He looks up and grins at her at that.

“That’s so you!

  1. _Not be completely useless in the kitchen_
  2. _Be own boss; no more dropping buttons_
  3. _Make people smile with my work so I can make me smile with my work_
  4. _Fix things with Dad_
  5. _Leave Tree Hill behind_
  6. _Know what it’s like for a boy to love me for me_
  7. _Own my own home_
  8. _Have a baby_
  9. _College degree?_
  10. _Find peace with the right one_



Wow,” he says, smoothing the paper out again, and placing it on the arm of the chair. “That’s quite the list.”  
She nods, smiling. “And over the next few months Julian made me attack the list. He already had one of his own and we had the not being useless in the kitchen in common, so the first thing we did was take cooking lessons together.”

“Oh my God,” he grins. “You can cook?”

“I’ll never be Julia Child,” she concedes, “but I can feed you without poisoning you.”

“Well, I have no idea who Julia Child is, but I’m gonna make you prove it sometime,” he tells her with a little finger pointing to emphasise it. “And seriously? I need to meet the guy that got you cooking. So ... how’d the rest of that list pan out? You told me the other day not to assume you didn’t have a college degree so I’m guessing you do?”

“Well … firstly, you’ll never meet Julian.”

“You ashamed of us small town folk from your sordid past, Sawyer?” he kids her.  
“No. Never. Actually … you and he would’ve really hit it off, I think. But you won’t meet him because … he … um, he died.”  
“Fuck! Shit. Sorry. Peyton …”  
“Don’t Nathan,” she assures him, waving her hand. “It’s … okay. I … look I’d rather not talk about that right now but, I’m okay. I promise. And yes ... I have a degree; post grad in arts administration.”  
“That’s … perfect for you. Wait,” he stops himself, concentrating on the timeline in his head. “There hasn’t been time for you to do an undergraduate and a post grad, has there?”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Julian’s family is big in the arts, his Dad’s a movie producer, his Mom’s really arty and Julian was a guitarist then became a producer too. The Baker-Norris clan partially fund this post graduate arts admin programme at an offshoot of UCLA. They keep a place every year for a candidate that doesn’t have an undergrad degree but has real world experience.”  
“Nepotism, huh?”  
“No. Well, only to find out about it in the first place. It’s a sought-after course with a really strong practical component; you have to start up and run an arts related business as part of the course. They had someone drop out at the last minute and were looking for someone to take the place. Julian told me about it otherwise I wouldn’t have known. He wanted to pull strings for me, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted to do it on my own merit. So, I went into the interview, with my music industry experience, and my experience setting up Tric and running the underage nights, and my Friends with Benefit CD, and an idea I had for a pop-up gallery series on campus for the fine arts students, to help them sell their art. And I got the place.”

“So, you quit the crap assistant to the assistant job and traded in music for art?”

“Well, arts admin, which can include music admin, but …” she pauses, waves a hand again, has what looks like a proud smile on her face, “the pop-up art gallery idea rocketed. We could barely keep up. It was the most successful project they’d ever had.”

“Of course, it was,” he says with a grin. “It was yours.”

“Aww. Gee thanks,” she laughs.

“I’m serious, Sawyer. You … you always did these amazing things. How did the pop-up gallery project turn into your own gallery? A business like that must take a lot of investment, and not necessarily a fast return.”

She nods. “Yeah, you’re right. When … when Julian died, he left me the startup money. I … I was stunned. He hadn’t given me any clue, but he’d told his father and left strict instructions that I wasn’t to decline it under any circumstances. And he left me a note that it would make sure I ticked off another couple of things on the list, my own business and making people, and me, smile with my work, and that with a bit of luck it might help me tick off owning my own home eventually too. Which it did. We opened two years ago. I bought the house within a year.”

“Fast,” he comments.

“Yeah. Way faster than I thought. But all those artists and buyers and art investors that I met during the pop-up project? They just … they flocked to us. It was … well … incredible really. And Pippa is just amazing at the marketing stuff.”

“Pippa?”  
“Julian’s sister,” Peyton explains with a warm smile that tells him this Pippa is very important to her. “She works with me in the gallery. I’m thinking about making her a partner soon. We wouldn’t be where we are without her. Plus, she’s been a huge support personally while I’ve juggled work and Jules.”

“So. Jules. Way more than just ticking something off your list, huh? She’s … you were right … she’s awesome, Peyton. So, at some point you and Julian became more than just buds?”  
“No. Well … we became totally and utterly best buds, family really, but not romantically involved.”

He shakes his head. “This is all very cryptic, Sawyer.”

She pushes her palms over her face and up into her hair in a gesture that smacks of nerves. “Nate, you … you’re great. You were a really close friend, and it’s so good being back in touch.”

“But?” he asks suspiciously.  
“You ... you’re kind of a traditional guy and … well … can you …?”

“Not be judgmental about whatever you’re about to tell me? How bad can it be? You and Julian were just friends, but you got smashed one night and did something you shouldn’t have, but you got pregnant and he stood by you? I think I can deal with that.”

“Um. Having a baby was on both of our lists,” she begins. “When Julian found out he was sick and that it was highly unlikely they’d be able to cure it, I told him I wanted to have a baby with him. I wanted him to experience that before he died. To be part of a pregnancy and part of a birth and to hold his child in his arms.”

“Okay. So … you went into it knowing you’d be raising a child on your own?” he asks to confirm.

“Uh-huh. Except that I knew I’d have the support of some of Julian’s family. They’re pretty amazing. And I knew that the baby would never want for anything.”

“Except … a father,” he says a little tentatively. It’s not judgmental. God knows, there were many years in his own youth when he’d have been better off without his father. But … he has an idea of the stats. And he knows what it was like for Peyton, growing up with only one parent. An absentee one at that.  
She leans forward, grabbing his hand between hers, speaking earnestly but firmly. “She _has_ a father, Nathan. It’s just that he died. And yes, I knew that was highly likely, but it can happen to anyone. It happened to me. And, as you well know, there are plenty of people whose father is alive and not in their life, or alive and in their life but that’s not a good thing.”

She’s mirrored his own thoughts back to him.

“Still …”  
“Juliet is loved as much as any other kid, more even. She’s a happy, balanced, smart, gorgeous kid. You said it yourself; she’s awesome.”

He nods. “You’re right. I … nope. You’re just right. I am kind of a traditional guy. But it didn’t take long for me to see she’s a pretty … no, a _very_ well adjusted, happy kid.”

She sits back in her chair, relieved, without really knowing why. It just seems ... important that he gets it, that he not condemn her.

“I’m kind of surprised that you and Julian didn’t actually end up together though, going through a pregnancy and birth and … how old was Juliet when he died?”  
“Nearly one.”

“So … pregnancy, birth and a year of having a kid and you two never …?”  
“How’s your judgey-ness feeling?”

“Huh? Why?”

He notices that she takes a big breath as if to draw in some courage.

“Julian was gay, Nathan,” she tells him quietly. “We’d never have wound up being a couple no matter how long he lived.”

She’s not sure if it’s better or worse than a rant that he says nothing. Nothing at all. Not for what seems to be a very long time but is probably only … Nope. It’s a very long time.

“Well,” she says eventually, “you gonna say anything or are we done here?”

He shakes his head as if to rid it of the thoughts that are there.

“Sorry,” he says. “Um. I …”

“Don’t get it?”

“Well, I guess not, because … well, I’ll never get the being a gay man thing ‘cos I just love women.”  
She laughs at him, shakes her head and he protests right away.

“No! Not _that_! Well, not _just_ that,” he concedes. “I mean, what would an artist say? The female form, right? I just … I _love_ it. I think it’s beautiful. So, I don’t get the gay thing … well I guess I could understand being a gay woman,” he adds almost as an afterthought, looking puzzled at his own words.

She reaches out and pats his knee. “Oh dear,” she laughs, “have I instigated a sexual identity crisis for you?”

“Fuck no!” he protests. “I know what I am and what I like.”

She laughs. “Of course, you do, Nate. I don’t think there was ever any doubt about that, not since you started chasing girls around the playground when you were what? Seven?”

“Hey!” he says pretending to be offended. “I was nine, thank you.”

Their eyes meet, and she finally relaxes. He doesn’t really get it; she can see that. But it isn’t judgement, it isn’t condemnation.

“You can ask me whatever you want,” she says suddenly. “I know it’s hard to wrap your head around.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he protests. “It’s none of my business. You’re clearly a fantastic Mom. Jules is great. You’re making it work. You look … well, compared to when I saw you six years ago, you look so _happy_. You must be doing something right so who am I to say I don’t get it, or approve, or whatever?”

“Yeah,” she breathes “I am. But … I meant it when I said it’s really good to be back in touch with you, and I’d really like it to stay that way. And that means you’ll be around Jules sometimes, if you want to be.”

She notes that he’s nodding and wearing a massive grin.

“And I guess,” she continues, “well, it’s important to me that the people around her accept her, that they’re not weirded out by how she got here.”

“I’m not _weirded out_ ,” he protests. “I’m just … I dunno, Peyton … a small-town boy trying to get his head around a big, liberal city approach to parenthood?”

She laughs at that. “Good explanation,” she agrees. “But you can still ask me anything. I’ve got nothing to hide from my friends.”

And that makes him smile again. Friends. It feels good. He knew he’d missed her humour and sarcasm, her kindness and encouragement, but he’s just realizing how much he’d missed the other things about Peyton Sawyer; her accepting nature, her openness, her grace, her strength.

“Really?” he asks.

“Sure. What’s the burning question?” She knows. Of course, she knows.

“Um … how did you ...?”  
“Conceive?”

“Yeah. Much nicer way of putting it than I would have,” he chuckles.

“What? You’re thinking turkey baster?”

His eyes pop, mainly because she’s actually said it, but partly also because yeah, he _is_ thinking turkey baster.

“Just the usual way, Nathan. Sex.”  
“But …”

“He was gay. Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s _awesome_ ,” he enthuses. “Peyton Sawyer is so hot she makes gay men turn?”  
“You … you’re … oh my God you’re impossible!”

“Well ... then _how_?”

“Look. I can’t speak for any other gay man, but Julian said for him it was a … continuum. He dated girls in high school, he found it pretty unfulfilling overall but not completely off putting. He said for him, it’s just that the first few people that he had good, open, positive relationships with happened to be guys, so that’s the way he went. But he certainly didn’t have any … problems … when we …”

“I think that makes me _more_ confused!” he laughs.

“It’s okay, Nate. I don’t really get it either. I guess, all you need to understand is that just after you saw me that weekend, that sign you said I should look for appeared. And he picked me up, he turned me around, he changed my life. He gave me Jules and I gave him Jules. He made me happier than I’d ever been, and before he died, I gave him the one thing he wanted most. It doesn’t matter that he was gay; he loved me in a way no one else ever had.”

Nathan picks up the list. “Number 6. The boy that loved you for you?”

“Yeah. The boy that loved me for me,” she nods. “I reckon I’ve still got time to find one that’ll do that _and_ think I’m sexy as hell though.”

He passes the list back to her. “What’s left on your list?”

“Well,” she says, glancing down at it. “Cooking? Check. Own boss, check. Make people, including me, smile with my work, check. Fix things with Dad, check. Leave Tree Hill behind, check check check. Boy loving me for me, partial check. Own home, check. Baby, check. College degree, check. Find peace with the right one, nope. So … eight and a half out of ten. Not bad in six years, huh? Maybe I need a new list.”

“I guess that’s why you look so … at comfortable in your own skin.”

“Yeah, but I think most of that is the Mom thing, to be honest. It just … puts it all in perspective, you know? Nothing else matters half as much when you’ve got this whole other little person relying on you and making you laugh and cry and ... it’s just ... I dunno, I can’t do it justice with words.”

“I want that,” he says quietly.

“Nate?”

“I think that’s why I was so … gutted when I found out Haley was taking the pill. I just … I _really_ want that. A family. I want to be everything for my kids that my Dad wasn’t for me.”

“Nathan,” she says softly. “You will. God, we’re still only 26. You’ve plenty of time.”

“Anyway,” he says, “enough about me wanting to be a Dad. Tell me how you fixed stuff with yours. That weekend packing up your room, you seemed to be kind of pissed at him. But you’re good now?”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We _really_ fell out after that LA thing with Lucas. And it wasn’t fixed by when I saw you. Actually, it got even worse before it got better, but it did get better, thanks to Jules.”

“Tell me,” he says simply. People’s relationships with their parents fascinated him, maybe because his was so dysfunctional growing up, and he had one parent with whom it was completely repaired, and with the other … well his father may as well not exist.

She hesitates, trying to find the right words.

“Don’t sugar coat it, Sawyer. You knew my parents. And Haley’s were bonkers; I mean who lets their teenaged daughter get married to her first boyfriend? Nothing about parents can surprise me. Not anymore.”

She nods. “Well,” she begins, “he really let me down after the proposal disaster. I called him in tears about the breakup. I … I guess I just wanted to hear that there was a guy out there, my _Dad_ , who loved me, you know?”

He nods. It makes perfect sense to him. “What happened?” he asks, though there’s a part of him that thinks he may have a fairly good idea.

“He told me I’d let _the one_ slip away. He told me Lucas was a good guy, a _great_ guy, who’d always looked out for me, that I’d pushed him away and that he, my Dad I mean, was sure I’d live to regret it deeply.”

“Fuck,” Nathan breathes out. “That’s pretty cold.” It’s kind of what he’d have guessed, but worse.

“Struck an ice dagger through my heart, that’s for sure,” she laughs.

“What did you say to that?”

“I’m not proud but I went batshit ballistic. I told him that he was just pissed that he didn’t get to fob me off on Lucas like he had for years. Not being there himself and letting the fact that Lucas, AKA _Rakeboy_ , was around to assuage his own guilt at being a totally absentee parent.”

“You think that was true?”

“Kind of. Partly. He got so mad. Ranted and raved about how I could never understand what it was like for him to lose my Mom, the love of his life. That when she died, they’d been together fifteen years, that that was almost half his life at that point, and he just didn’t know how to be in that house without her. I told him I could _completely_ understand it. That when she died, I might’ve only known here for nine years but that that was 100%, _all,_ of my life. I told him that not only did I have to live in that house without her every day, I also had to live there without my father _almost_ every day. Then I hung up on him. We didn’t have any contact for … a year or so, then he emailed me to tell me he’d sold the house and I had to sort out my stuff.”

“How were you not a basket case that weekend?” he asks incredulously. He’d known at the time that she was sad, lonely even, and that there was clearly stuff going on. But he’d never have guessed it was that bad.

“I was ‘til my friend showed up,” she smiles at him, earning another glorious Nathan Scott megawatt grin back. “You kind of saved that couple of days for me, ya’ know? Made it bearable.”

“I’m glad,” he says warmly. “I wish I’d known though. So … how did you fix it? Did he initiate it, or you?”

“Julian,” she smiles.

“God,” he mutters, “was this guy a Saint?”

She laughs and punches his arm. “Saint Julian? He’d have _loved_ being called that. Actually, it was kind of reciprocal. When we met, he was estranged from his father, Paul. Paul had trouble accepting that Julian was gay, well, mainly that he’d never have a grandson from his son. When we got pregnant, I went to see his Dad, marched in there, hadn’t even met him before, and did this massive big rant and rave about how I was carrying his grandchild and if he didn’t fix things with his son, he’d never get to know him or her. And, to his credit, he did fix it. When Jules was born, Julian was sitting next to my bed at the hospital, holding her and just … he was _instantly_ in love with her. And he looked at me and said _I want to protect her from everything already, and it kills me that I’m not gonna be able to for very long._ Then he stood up and kissed me on the forehead and said _Honey, I know your Dad must feel the same way about you. Send him a photo of his granddaughter and give him the chance to make it right._ _Let her fix two families._ So, I did.”

“Did your Dad even know you were pregnant?”

“Nope. He got a photo attachment from me on an email that said something like _Meet your granddaughter, Juliet. Her father is not my husband, or my boyfriend. He’s a gay man with not very long to live and he thinks I should give you chance. Don’t make me regret the fact that I can’t say no to a dying man’s wishes_.”

Nathan draws in a sharp breath.

“I know,” she says, winching a little. “Cold hearted, bitch, right? But … he just hurt me _so_ much, Nate. Being gone so much, the deceit over Ellie, then basically blaming me for what happened with Lucas …”

“How was that reunion, then?” he interrupts gently.

“Very tearful. For all of us. Mostly my Dad. We hashed it out. He ... well you’ve seen them together. He loves Jules, and she’s brought him back to life, brought him back to me.”


	4. “Well, well. If it ain’t Miss Blondie.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know we kid around Nathan,” the old man says quietly. “I know we do. The locker room always stays with us. But … this is no joke, son. This is … I know I put a … what did you call it? A rocket up your ass? But honestly? I never thought … I thought the best I could hope for was to get you upright and making a contribution. This is nothing short of a miracle.”

Peyton’s Wednesday night dinner with Bobby and the lawyers goes well. She’s more than able to answer the legal questions and does so confidently and succinctly. They’re impressed and reassured and leave after dessert, promising final versions of the contracts will be ready the next day.

Peyton watches them depart then shakes her head.

“What’s that?” Bobby asks. “Second thoughts?”  
“No!” she says, lifting her head to return his look. “Just … still a little stunned at how quickly this has all come together.”  
“Meant to be,” he says, nodding and smiling, his kind eyes twinkling a little.

“Maybe,” she agrees. “If you’re into that sort of thing,” she then adds with a slight shrug.  
“You’re not?” he asks, leaning forward and genuinely curious.

“I … oh, who am I kidding?” she laughs. “Yeah. Of course.”

“So … it was _meant to be_ that you were working late at your gallery when I impulsively made that call?”  
“I guess so,” she grins.

“And you were …” he’s interrupted by his phone, which he apologises for, but she tells him to take it, that she needs to go to the ladies’ room anyway.

When she returns to the table, he’s receiving his credit card back from their waiter. He stands and helps her into her jacket, before they walk side by side to the carpark, where her boring rental sits alongside his Bobcats branded SUV.

“So,” he says warmly, “some things so far may have been _meant to be_ , but unfortunately our dinner for just the two of us,” he emphasizes the _us_ slightly, “tomorrow night is not.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah, I’m going to have to head home, pack and head out to the airport pretty much right away. League business.”

“Well, that’s okay,” she smiles. “There’s plenty of time.”

“That’s true. So … can we put a pin in that dinner then?”  
“Sure,” she smiles. “I’d like that.”

He grins, takes her hand and leans in to kiss her very sweetly on her cheek.

“Me too, Peyton Sawyer. Me too.”

So, after the team’s morning practice the next day, during which she gets some shots that she is quite frankly thrilled with, she doesn’t go back to her Dad’s to get ready for a dinner with Bobby Irons. Instead, she finds herself agreeing to accompany Nathan Scott to Tree Hill.

She’s really not quite sure how it happens; he’s going to catch up with, and deliver some news to, his old high school coach, which she knew he was going to do, and, this part is news to her, to put his old house on the market. When he tells her that he’s heading back to Tree Hill that afternoon and asks, as an afterthought, if she’d like to go, she finds herself saying yes before she even thinks about it. All she knows is that the second the yes falls from her lips, she begins looking forward to catching up with her Mom. It’s been far too long.

Nathan collects her from her father’s right on time at one, spends a few minutes joshing about with Jules, who is staying with Larry and who happily waves off her mother and her seemingly new best friend.

The drive from Charlotte to Tree Hill, all three and a half hours of it, seems to fly by in an instant. When they pull into the driveway, Whitey is sitting in a comfortable rattan chair on the verandah, a white pad and bandage over his left eye, and takes great delight in bellowing out an abrupt greeting when Nathan gets out of the Range Rover, which he’d brought to a stop right by the stairs to the verandah.

“‘Bout time, Scott! A man could get thirsty waiting for you to turn up, boy.”

“Yeah, yeah, Coach,” Nathan answers back as he walks around the front of the Range Rover to open the passenger door, piquing Coach Durham’s interest. “I think you’ll forgive me when you see who I brought with me.”

“Only if it’s an old player of mine or a pretty girl,” Whitey quips.

“I dunno, Coach, do I qualify?” Peyton retorts as she emerges from behind the door, Nathan’s hand landing on the small of her back for a moment as they walk up the path.

Whitey, mouth open in shock for a moment, stands and steps slowly, tiredly, to the edge of the verandah.

“Well, well. If it ain’t Miss Blondie,” he drawls.

“Not so Blondie these days, Coach,” she replies, taking his extended right hand between her two.

“Still just as pretty though, girlie. Nope ... I’m wrong. Even prettier,” he says, shaking his head in wonder, before pulling her into a long, tight hug.

“You’re incorrigible,” she chuckles, kissing his cheek. “Did I ever tell you that?”

“Nope. Probably because it would have got you a detention,” he chuckles. “But you can tell me now. I’m a sick old man, Miss Sawyer, being called incorrigible would be a badge of honour right now!”

He turns to Nathan and gestures towards the open front door.

“You’re right, Nathan. You’re forgiven for being late. Now you know where everything is – so _you_ go and make the coffee while _I_ catch up with the pretty girl.”

Nathan chuckles but does as he’s told, waiting a few moments to make sure Peyton is able to help Whitey back to his chair without his help, before disappearing inside.

“Well. Well. Peyton Sawyer! It’s very nice to see you again, young lady, especially, I might add,” he winks as he pats her hand, “looking so happy.”

“Not something you’d usually associate with P. Sawyer, huh, coach?” she laughs.

“Well. Not really, but not surprising either,” he nods. “They were some tough years for you, your time at Tree Hill High.”

“They were,” she replies calmly. “Luckily the last few have been a bit kinder, for the main part.”

Whitey nods his pleasure at hearing that, then after a thought, grabs her hand.

“No rings?” he asks, eyeballing her fiercely.

“Nope. Still a Sawyer, footloose and fancy free, Coach. But …” she thinks for a moment about whether he’ll judge her for being, to all intents and purposes a solo parent, but then she remembers the way he helped out Jake and Jenny. “I have a daughter. Would you like to see photos?”

“Well _of course_ … bet she’s as pretty as her mother!”

“She’ll be just as much trouble when she’s a teenager too, I think!”

They gush over her small stack of photos for a bit, until Nathan returns with coffee and a plate of Whitey’s favorite cookies, which Nathan had smuggled into the house without Whitey seeing, and which his old coach nods his thanks to him for. The three sit and chat for a while, until eventually Whitey turns the fierce eyeball stare on Nathan and asks him, rather directly, why the younger man was so determined to disturb an old man’s peace on this particular Thursday afternoon.

“I’ve got some news for you, Coach.”  
Whitey’s eyes slide sideways to Peyton, who has turned to place her coffee cup down, and his eyebrow raises, and his eyes sparkle a bit. Nathan almost laughs at the old man’s obviously romantic notions, and he shakes his head, smiling.

“Well come on then, boy. Out with it! What’s so important you couldn’t just phone me?”  
“I wanted to see your ugly old face when I told you,” Nathan teases, making Whitey laugh.

“All right then, son.”

Nathan waits a few moments, maybe for dramatic effect, maybe just because he doesn’t know quite how to say the words.

“That rocket you put up my ass paid off, Coach.”

“Well, all right, then,” Whitey grins. “Coaching?”  
“Nope,” Nathan says with a smug grin.

“Good Lord, boy!” Whitey slaps his own thigh hard with a flat palm. “You’re playing? You’re playing again?”

“I have special permission to tell you Coach, before the media release in a few weeks. But your lips are sealed or I’m toast!”

Whitey makes that well known zipper gesture across his mouth and leans forward eagerly.

“I’m back with the Bobcats,” Nathan confirms.

Whitey unashamedly wipes a couple of tears off his own cheeks, then just sits, shaking his head, and occasionally opening his mouth, but not saying another word.

“Geeze, Whitey,” Nathan eventually says, teasingly again, “if I’d known all I had to do to shut you up was land in a wheelchair then make an impossible comeback, I’d have done it years ago.”

“I know we kid around Nathan,” the old man says quietly. “I know we do. The locker room always stays with us. But … this is no joke, son. This is … I know I put a … what did you call it? A rocket up your ass? But honestly? I never thought … I thought the best I could hope for was to get you upright and making a contribution. This is nothing short of a miracle.”

The two men chat on, about training camps, schedules, Nathan’s likely teammates in Whitey’s view. Nathan may have permission to tell Whitey that he’s made it back, but he certainly can’t confirm any of Whitey’s other predictions, even if they’re pretty much on the money.

Peyton gently excuses herself to go into the bathroom at one point, and Whitey takes the opportunity to pause the basketball talk and to look appraisingly at Nathan.

“Got something on your mind, Coach?”

“Got something else you’d like to tell me, Scott?”

“Not that I can think of,” the brunette replies with a small frown. “I told you the news I came to tell you. Just came back into town to see my old Coach. Well, and to put my house on the market, but I’m picking that’s not what you meant.”

“You playing dumb, boy?”

“No. Honestly Whitey, I just don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“You and Peyton Sawyer?” Whitey says, waving a hand towards the house.

“Me and Peyton what? Oh! No,” he laughs as he realizes what his old coach is suggesting. “We’ve been back in touch just a few days after no contact for years.”

“Few days huh?”

“Yup.”

Whitey nods sagely, weaves his fingers together and studies them before he looks back at Nathan.

“Looks like you get on better than you ever did,” he observes shrewdly. “For _just a few days_.”

“What are you suggesting Whitey?”

“Oh. Nothing ... she’s a pretty girl, Nathan. Always was spunky enough to stand up to your nonsense, too.”

Nathan shakes his head and smiles.

“You’re just an old romantic, you are. It is possible for a man and a woman to be good _friends_ you know.”

“Oh, I know. It’s _possible_ … but when the spark’s there …”

“There is no sparking going on, thank you very much,” Nathan chides him. “I’m just glad to have one of my best buddies back.”

“Very pretty girl though,” Whitey presses.

“Yes, she is,” Nathan agrees. “More than. She’s beautiful. But you don’t have to get involved with _every_ pretty girl, Coach.”

Whitey laughs and shakes his head, mirroring the gesture Nathan made himself just a few moments ago.

“If only you’d known that back when you were sixteen, kid.”

Nathan drops her at the cemetery on his way to meeting the realtor at his house and tells her he’ll collect her when he’s done. He expects to be an hour or so, but it’s nearly two hours by the time she sees the dark blue Range Rover pull up at the gate down the hill from her mother’s grave.

He gets out of the car but stands next to it rather than walking to her. When she meets his gaze from where she is, he waves and gestures that there’s no hurry; he’ll wait in the last of the evening sun until she’s ready to leave.

A few minutes later she stands and dusts off her jeans, rests her fingertips on the headstone for a moment and walks slowly towards him.

“Good chat?” he asks when she’s finally within hearing. She looks at him, wondering for a moment if he’s teasing her, but there’s no sign that he’s being anything less than entirely genuine.

“Yeah,” she replies quietly. “Long overdue.”

“As are we,” he says.

“Sorry?”  
“We really should have been on the road an hour ago if we want to get something to eat and to get back before midnight.”

“Nathan, you look kind of tired to be driving that far.”  
“No, I … yeah,” he says, rubbing his eyes a bit. “I … guess it’s a bit tougher than I thought it would be. Putting the house up for sale.”

“Memories?”  
“Sort of. End of an era.”  
“But you’re keeping the beach house, right? So, you can always come back.”  
“I know, it’s just … it seems weird, you know? I’m already in Charlotte a lot, and it makes sense to base myself there full time but …”  
“Why don’t we stay tonight?” she suggests. “Grab some takeout, stay at your place? You can … I dunno … say goodbye to it properly?”

“You don’t mind?” he asks, sounding a little relieved already. “What about getting back to Jules?”  
“She’ll love having a night with her Grandad. He lets her get away with not eating her veges and tidies her toys away for her, whereas I make her do it herself.”

“You sure?”  
“I’m sure. Hey … you kind of helped me out when I was packing up at my old house that weekend, it’s only fair I help you out a bit now, right?”  
“You volunteering to help me pack the house up?” he asks hopefully.  
“Did you help me pack my boxes?”   
“Well, no, but …”  
“There’s your answer, then!”

“So … just the reciprocal pizza, beer and easing sadness, then?” he grins.

“That I can do, Scott,” she grins, “that I can do.”

The next day, as they near her Dad’s, she becomes a little quiet, and when he reminds her that the BBQ at Cooper and Bron’s is in two days’ time, on Sunday, she says nothing but looks pensive.

“It really is okay, you know?” he tells her. “You don’t need to stress that you’re butting in on a family thing. There’s often other people there.”  
“I … it’s not that, not really.”  
“Then what’s up?”

“I dunno’ … maybe just a little overwhelmed with all the Tree Hill-iness of yesterday and today?”

“Visiting your Mom? It must’ve been difficult.”  
“Hmmmm,” she ponders. “No. That was good. I know I’m crazy, but I miss being able to go see her and tell her what’s going on with me. Ask her advice. It’s more … _you_ …”  
“Me?” he interrupts. “Why?”

“And Whitey and being in Tree Hill for a day and overnight, and now talking about seeing your Mom and your uncle for the first time in …. years.”

“Too much?” he asks in concern.

“No. I don’t think so. It’s just got me thinking.”  
“Well, if it helps, I mean, Coop was only ever there for visits. Mom’s not from there; she was only ever there in the first place because of getting preggers with me,” he says cajolingly. “And she left a long time ago. So … that’s a bit less Tree Hill-iness. Plus, Bron’s from Texas, and the kids were all born in Charlotte, so …”  
“I’m fine, Nathan! It’s actually not … bad thoughts. It’s more like … maybe I’m missing this side of the country a bit, you know? Maybe this is all just … making me think.”


	5. So, you’re not dating her, why exactly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooper opens the door with a palpable air of expectation about him. The look of anticipation quickly turns to one of being absolutely stunned when he looks at Peyton, across to Nathan, then back to Peyton.  
> “Holy shit!” he exhales, looking between them yet again.

Cooper opens the door with a palpable air of expectation about him. The look of anticipation quickly turns to one of being absolutely stunned when he looks at Peyton, across to Nathan, then back to Peyton.

“Holy shit!” he exhales, looking between them yet again.

“You look … shocked,” she says, laughing a little self-consciously at his scrutiny of her.

“That’s because I am absolutely, completely, 100% shocked,” he says drolly.

Peyton realizes then that he was not expecting her _at all_ , and punches Nathan in the arm. Hard.

“You!” she protests. “I told you we’d only come if you checked that it was okay. You _said_ it was okay.”

Nathan grins and shrugs, entirely unconcerned.

“Yep,” he says offhandedly. “And I did. I asked if it was okay if I brought someone.”

“And given that his Mom, _and_ Bron a _nd_ I have all been giving him stick about getting back in the game,” Cooper explains, “when he asked if he could bring a date to the family BBQ, we said, and I quote, _Hell yes!”_

“A date?” Peyton squawks, glaring at Nathan.

“I did _not_ say a date,” he responds with a glare at his uncle, “I said, and _I_ quote, _someone_.”

Cooper shrugs and rolls his eyes and mutters something like _whatever_ , then stands back and gestures with his arm to usher them in.

“It was implied,” he counters as he closes the door behind them. “So … are you saying you two aren’t …?”

“No!” they say firmly, in unison.

“Oh,” Peyton follows up when Juliet tugs at her hand, “Cooper, this is Juliet. Juliet, sweetie, this is Cooper. He’s Nathan’s uncle.”

Juliet extends her hand a little shyly and Cooper shakes it very seriously.

“Are you Nathan’s Mommy’s brother?” Juliet asks quietly.

“I am indeed,” he smiles. “Thank goodness,” he then adds with a raised eyebrow and a smirk at the two adults. “Look what happens to you if you’re the brother of his fath …”  
Nathan elbows Coop hard. There’s no need to even allude to Dan here, however vaguely. Juliet frowns in confusion and Peyton’s glare at Cooper sends him into damage control.

“I said _thank goodness_ because my family’s so cool,” Cooper explains to Juliet, recovering instantly. “My sister is _awesome._ And you know, I’m sure you’ve figured out than Nathan is …” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. He stoops a little and pretends to whisper to her conspiratorially. “He’s … meh! He’s _okay_ I guess.”

Juliet giggles and looks up at Nathan with clear adoration.

“He’s more than okay!” she declares vehemently. “I like Nathan. I like him a _lot_.”

“Oh well,” Cooper shrugs, sighing animatedly. “There’s no accounting for taste, really there isn’t.”

Juliet giggles again and lets her hand slip from her mother’s, a sure sign that she feels comfortable already.

They move further into the house, Cooper muttering something that sounds a lot like _intergenerational adoration of Scott boys_ to Peyton’s back before pointing out a guest bathroom to her, as they go past it, and out through a wide-open doorway, with concertinaed bifold doors at one side, to the back deck.

“Nathan’s here, guys,” Cooper yells and three boy hurricanes immediately descend upon their brunette second cousin, who runs through a long and complex series of fist bumps and side man-hugs and chin tosses with each of them in turn, starting with the youngest.

Juliet watches in fascination until the ritual is complete, whereupon the eldest turns to her.

“Wanna learn our fist bumps?”

“Yeah!”

They’re off before introductions can happen and Peyton laughs as the four of them throw their names at each other casually. The eldest of the boys stops after a few steps and back tracks.

“Who are you?” he asks Peyton, looking up at her with eyes just like his father’s and a wide grin that make his question far less pointed that it might have seemed otherwise.

“I’m Peyton” she says, “Juliet’s Mom.”

“And _not_ Nathan’s date,” Cooper says loudly and pointedly, just as Deb and Bronwyn emerge through the door.

“Holy sh … shoot!” Deb exclaims, her eyes wide in shock. “Peyton Sawyer!? Is that you?”

“Um,” Peyton shrugs, with a slightly awkward little wave. “Hi, Mrs …”

“Oh he … heck no!” the older blonde declares. “Don’t you dare call me Mrs Anything! It’s Deb to you!”

Deb rushes to her and embraces her warmly, then enthusiastically makes the introduction to Bronwyn.

“Call me Bron,” the gorgeous brunette insists with a wide smile as the two shake hands. “And … did I hear _‘not a date’_?”

Nathan laughs at Bron’s forwardness and hugs his mother, who’s looking at him with a piercing stare.

“Geeze Mom, don’t look so disappointed,” he admonishes with a raised eyebrow.

It’s a relaxed and convivial afternoon and early evening. Nathan and Bron clearly get on like a house on fire and tease each other mercilessly. Peyton finds herself swinging between lighthearted banter with Cooper and warm, engaging chat with Deb. Before she knows it, Cooper is manning the grill and Bron and Deb are bringing delicious looking salads and a dish of hot scalloped potatoes to the large outdoor table. Nathan rounds up the kids for hand washing before the meal and Peyton watches on, realizing she’s witness to a well-rehearsed routine. The Lees make it look effortless.

Conversation at the dinner table is dominated by the kids, the Lee boys each determined to outdo their brothers with tales of hilarious school yard escapades. Juliet listens agog, and knowing looks pass between the adults, over the kids’ heads.

Peyton insists on helping to clear the dishes, staying in the kitchen with Bron to assist with stacking the dishwasher, washing and drying a few of the more fragile items by hand. The two women chat amiably, discovering a shared love of indie rock that keeps their conversation lively; full of bands they’ve both seen, or both always wanted to see but never quite made it to. Bron enthuses that she may, at last, have found a new gig buddy and Peyton grins. Nathan was right; she and Cooper’s other half get on really well. Having a like-minded female friend in Charlotte will be nice.

“I’m not sure I’d have recognised you,” the brunette says to her guest as they finish up.  
“From where?” Peyton asks, looking a little lost at the complete change in topic.

“I’ve seen a photo of you dancing with Coop at Nathan’s thing years ago,” Bron explains. “What was it? A vow renewal?”

“Oh … wow,” Peyton laughs. “Yeah, I’d completely forgotten all about that.”

“Please tell Coop that when I’m in earshot to see him get his comeuppace,” Bron laughs. “He’s forever bragging that you girls all used to call him Hot Uncle Cooper. It would be lovely to have him realize he wasn’t that memorable after all.”

“Oh no,” Peyton says, shaking her head and raising her hands in denial. “That was just Brooke, really.”

“Yeah. Nathan said that too.”  
“Althooooough,” Peyton teases, seeing Copper approaching them and timing her comment perfectly “ _Uncle_ Cooper? Come to think of it, he was _kinda_ hot.”

He grins and waggles his eyebrows before she drops her punch line.

“For an _old_ guy, I mean,” she casually adds, winking at Bron as she does so.

“Oh … I _like_ you,” Bron declares, just as Nathan walks past them heading back out from the interior of the house. “Hmm,” Bron adds in an aside, as he descends the stairs in front of them, “ _speaking_ of hot.”

“What? Nathan?” Peyton asks.

“Oh hell, don’t tell me you don’t agree,” Bron says, as they both watch Nathan start tearing around the yard with the kids.

“I … I guess 15-year-old Peyton thought so,” Peyton says with a dismissive shrug.

“Well … maybe your 15-year-old self should have a word with your 26-year-old self,” Bron suggests, grinning lopsidedly and touching her elbow to Peyton’s side lightly.  
“We’re just …”

“Yeah, I know, just friends. But _c’mon_ … he is damned fine.”

“I guess?” Peyton replies, looking across the yard at the man in question. “I don’t think about that; I just love what a great guy he is.”

“He grew up alright, huh?” Deb smiles as she joins them, efficiently gathering together a tray, mugs, milk and sugar. “Who’d have thought?”

“Well … if you’d taken Dan as an example, or as a comparison …” Peyton grimaces.

“There _is_ no comparison, sweetie,” Deb interrupts. “Nathan is the pick of the Scott men, even if I do say so myself.”

“So, you’re saying it’s the Lee genes, then?” Peyton quips, making both Deb and Bron laugh out loud. “Deb,” Peyton continues, tucking her hair behind her ear as she speaks a little shyly, “Nathan … he told me how great you were, after his accident.”

“Well, it was about time I stepped up for him,” Deb smiles.

“You were there … before,” Peyton replies tentatively. “I mean …”  
“Sometimes?” Deb supplies, without any sign of embarrassment.

Peyton shrugs, looking a bit embarrassed herself, realising she’d almost implied Deb hadn’t been a great Mom to the teenaged Nathan.

“Oh look, we all know I was MIA for a big chunk of Nathan’s high school years. I was … not the worst mother ever but I left a lot to be desired. You, on the other hand,” Deb says, “look at you! With your kiddo. You’re _amazing_.”

“Oh … no … I just …” Peyton demurs, though her shining eyes show how much she enjoys being complimented on her parenting.  
“Honey, just say _thank you Deb_ , ‘cos it’s true.”

“I …” Peyton laughs as Deb gives her a hard stare and raises a stern finger. “Okay. Thank you, Deb.”

The three women move, with coffee mugs, to sit under the shade of a large umbrella over a heavy wooden outdoor table, Bron leaning into Peyton to tell her, quietly, that she’d love to get her take on Dan Scott at some point.

“Oh God,” Peyton gulps, “why?”  
“I’ve just never met him,” Bron responds with a casual wave of her hand. “I mean, obviously Deb and Coop think the guy’s a massive dick, and Nathan moreorless agrees most of the time. But … I guess every so often he’ll remember his father doing something halfway decent and that makes him …”  
“Nostalgic?” Deb inserts.

“Yeah, and maybe sad?” Bron answers.

“Well, I don’t know that I can add anything of value to any conversation about Dan Scott,” Peyton says. “I’m quite sure he didn’t have much time for me. And as much as he let Nathan – and Deb - down over and over again, he was even worse for Lucas.”

“And Karen,” Deb adds sadly. “And Keith. God. Keith worst of all …”

“How much …” Peyton begins then stops. Not really any of her business.

“How much longer before he gets out of prison?” Deb asks knowingly, seemingly unconcerned.

“Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t …”

“It’s okay, Peyton. Really. I believe the next review panel is not too far off actually.”  
“Does that mean he could get out?”

“Maybe.”  
“How do you feel about that?”  
“I really don’t care,” Deb says calmly. “In prison. Out of prison. He’ll never be part of my life again. Or Nathan’s, I shouldn’t think.”

Their attention is drawn by hoots and hollers from Bron and Cooper’s three boys, all doing handstands and showing off terribly to Juliet, who takes their shenanigans in her stride and casually pulls out a beautiful handstand of her own, balancing nicely for several long seconds.

“Cool! Can you do a cartwheel?”

“No,” Juliet admits regretfully. “I don’t know how.”

“We’ll show you!”

And several minutes of loud demonstrations follow, with accompanying explanations of how to plant your hands, how to keep your body turning until Juliet decides she’s seen enough to try it herself. Her first attempt has all four kids rolling about laughing, then the boys encourage her up to try again. Her second is better, but she’s clearly unimpressed at herself and ready to give up.

“I … should I calm my lot down?” Bron suddenly asks Peyton, the thought having just occurred to her. “I … I’m so used to having rambunctious boys that I didn’t think … they …”

“She’s fine!” Peyton assures her. “She’s having a blast. Please … just let them be kids. It’s great for her to get some rough and tumble in.”

The eldest of the boys takes Juliet’s hands and turns them, explaining an angle to her by the looks of it, then showing her a little footwork. She nods thoughtfully, then steps back, takes a little skip and throws herself into a cartwheel that is certainly not perfect, but does involve a wheel shape and her landing on her feet, semi upright. Her grin is huge and the boys, still boisterous but nevertheless charming, congratulate her on her fast learning.

Juliet falls asleep in the back seat within a few minutes of Nathan pulling out of Cooper’s driveway. Exhausted but, even in sleep, looking happy.

“So … you forgive me?” Nathan asks Peyton, with no sign of being worried that she hasn’t, or won’t.

“Honestly?” she says, with a raised eyebrow. “Part of me doesn’t really want to.”

“C’mon,” he says with a mock wheedle, “they loved seeing you … _and_ your mini-you.”

“But … I specifically asked you …”

“I know,” he sighs. “I know I sort of misled you but …”  
“But what!?”  
“I just wanted to see the looks on their faces,” he says with a slightly embarrassed look.

“Horror?” she chides him, with a roll of her eyes.

“Dumbass!” he laughs “No … just ... I knew they – especially my Mom – I knew they’d be as blown away by you, and Juliet, as I was. I just wanted to see that. Is that so bad?”

“Oh,” she says, moreorless lost for words.  
“Good enough excuse?” he teases.

“Maybe.”  
“Hidden snag, though,” he adds.

“What’s that?”

“Now they’ll start nagging me about when they can see you again,” he tells her.

“Oh well,” she shrugs nonchalantly, “that’s your problem isn’t it?”

His phone beeps not long after that and he checks it when he stops at the lights and laughs, then tilts the screen so that she can read the message from his mother.

_Bring P &J whenever you want!_

He reaches Larry’s home not long after and pulls into the driveway. He cuts the engine and offers to help Peyton carry Juliet in, but she declines with thanks, so he merely waits to make sure they make it up the stairs okay. He realizes, suddenly, that she won’t be able to get the door as her hands are full of a sleeping child. He opens his door and is about to leap out to help, when the house door opens, and Larry appears. Peyton’s Dad glances out, assesses the situation instantly and waves to Nathan that he’s got it, chucks his chin in Nathan’s direction then ushers his daughter and granddaughter inside.

Nathan’s phone beeps again and he checks it before he pulls out. His uncle this time.

_So, you’re not dating her, why exactly? Seriously, nephew, she’s awesome. Stunning. Are you blind? If I was single …_

He shakes his head, even though there’s no one there to see it, and laughs to himself as he pulls into the traffic to head home.


	6. “Now that’s a better greeting than I’d get at any hotel.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She watches his back as he walks away. He’s wrong. He didn’t take all that long to become a great guy. Within months of their teenaged selves breaking up for good, he’d virtually done a 180°. Sure, there was the odd slip up after that, but by and large … Nathan was reformed a long time ago. It was her that took longer, she thinks.

**One Month Later - Home of Peyton and Juliet, LA**

“Hello?”

“Hey.”  
“Nate! How are you?”  
“Um … homeless at the moment.”  
“What!?”  
“It’s … I’m in LA meeting with some people over an advertising thing and I messed up the dates and came in today, but my meeting’s not actually ‘til Thursday. And the hotel’s full.”

“How do you _do_ that?” she laughs. “Don’t you have a schedule or a planner or something?”  
“Yeah. I dunno … I guess with trying to sell the house and trying to get motivated to find a new one in Charlotte and getting back into proper training … I’m all over the place. I must’ve put the wrong date in my phone.”

“So, you need a bed for a couple of nights?”

“Um … I guess I can find another hotel easy enough …” he says entirely unconvincingly.  
“Nathan!”  
“Yeah. I really do,” he cedes. “I hate hotels and this one that I’m in _on Thursday_ , is about the only LA one I’ve found that I can sleep in. Is that …?”  
“It’s fine! Jump in a cab. You’ve got the address, right?”  
“I’m really glad you said that, Sawyer.”  
“Well … of course.”  
“No … I mean ‘cos … I’m on your front porch.”

She cracks up as she starts walking towards the front door.

“Just as well I’m home then, you idiot,” she says before ending the call and opening the door, standing in the doorway, one hand high on the door, her hip angled and the other hand waving him in while she rolls her eyes.

He grins, shakes his head and steps inside.

“Now that’s a better greeting than I’d get at _any_ hotel,” he says with a classic Scott boy smirk straight out of their teens.

“What?”

He gestures towards her attire. She’s in a navy-blue bikini with a sarong wrapped and tucked low on her hips.

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I was about to jump in the hot tub. Jules is at her Aunt P’s for the night and I don’t get a lot of time to …”  
“And I’ve turned up and ruined your night to yourself. I’m … I’ll …”  
“No! It’s fine!” she assures him. “It’s totally fine. But I am still going to jump in the hot tub. I’m … I’ve had this mad run of wanting to paint this last month. I haven’t done it for years. I’ve discovered I’m not ‘game fit’ anymore and painting so much has been killing my arms and shoulders. So … you can crash or watch TV or grab yourself a drink and come out and talk to me, or … whatever.”  
“You know, after that flight, a hot tub soak sounds kind of good. But I don’t have any boardies or anything …”

“I don’t have any spares either, sorry … but just jump in in your boxers. It’s fine.”

“You sure?”  
“Of course.” He looks dubious and she laughs and punches his arm. “You’re not _that_ irresistible, Scott. I’m sure I’ll manage to control myself.”

He narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head, but looks a little coy.

“So,” she says, walking towards down the hallway, “guest room is down this hallway, last door on the left. Bed’s always made up. There’s an en suite bathroom so you’re all set. There’s a robe in the bathroom, I think. If not,” she continues as she opens a cupboard and pulls out some large spa towels, “here’s a towel for the hot tub. It’s just out there,” she says gesturing to the open French doors. “There’s beers in the fridge. There’s decent Scotch in the cupboard above the fridge. Get your bearings and I’ll see you out there.”

When he joins her in the hot tub, she’s already halfway down a glass of red wine and a gorgeous flush is settling on her cheeks from the combined effects of the alcohol and the water. She’s leaning back with her right shoulder positioned by a water jet, and barely opens her eyes when she hears his footsteps.

As he settles into the water with a small appreciative groan, she looks at the glass in his hand.

“Water?”  
“Yeah. Don’t drink much during the season. Couple beers after a game, that’s about it.”  
“Okay. Well, I’m not joining you in your teetotalling.”  
“That’s fine.”  
“How’s practice going?”  
And he’s away, raving about how the team’s coming together, how much of a buzz he’s getting from playing for Bobby again, how _good_ he feels on the court, what a great feeling they all have about the upcoming season, how positive the response has been to her preliminary sketches.

She sits, letting the water lap around her, her eyes closed most of the time, occasionally taking a sip from her glass, a soft smile coming and going as he talks.

“God,” he says after a long time, “I’m completely raving. Sorry. You’re not getting a word in.”  
She opens her eyes and meets his, and smiles a stunning, contented smile.

“It’s fine,” she says, a little of her Southern drawl coming through, “actually, it’s more than fine. It’s really nice.”  
“What? Having the conversation be completely one sided? Even though I am completely awesome, obviously.”

“Well, _obviously!”_ she laughs. “No, it’s … I like hearing a male voice. It’s nice.”

“Sawyer?”  
“It’s … I used to love it, when I’d wake up and hear Julian’s voice downstairs, on the phone, talking to Jules … whatever. There’s … a timbre, a _lowness_ to a male voice in the house. It’s … I don’t know … comforting, I think. So … talk away, Scott.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

Later, he’s hanging out in the living room while she showers, and he notices that the room continues around a corner in an L-shape. He walks through and stops in his tracks. It’s an office of sorts, spacious and airy with a couple of comfortable armchairs and a small but neat desk. But it’s what’s on the wall that has his breath catching in his chest.

There’s a series of twelve large, simply stunning black and white photographs. They are beautifully lit, with soft shadowing. He’s never really understood what people mean when they say art speaks to them. He thinks maybe he does now. He can’t see the woman’s face; it’s either in heavy shadow or the photo stops short of her face. But he knows it’s Peyton. She’s matured, of course, and it’s been nearly a decade since his hands were on her body, but he still recognizes it, in its entirety and a few rather specific parts; collarbone, throat, inside her elbow, inside her wrist. Nine shots, following her through her pregnancy as her belly grew, as the angle of her hips softened, as her breasts swelled. He wonders if he should feel a bit … voyeuristic … but he doesn’t. They’re just … amazing photographs. He can feel the admiration and _adoration,_ coming from the photographer, that is in them.

And the last three make him tear up. Three close ups: a male and a female hand, hers clenched around his, the skin over the knuckles stretched taut, strained, in pain; large but slender fingered male hands holding a newborn baby and that same baby being held close and breast fed. He stands, completely enthralled, then startles when a hand touches his shoulder.

“Hey,” she says. “Wondered where you’d got to.”  
“Um … sorry … I got … these are _amazing_.”

“Yeah. Julian took them. He made me look pretty good, huh?”

“Well … I guess he had pretty decent raw material to work with,” Nathan teases her gently, “but … yeah. I guess his … what is it … cinematic eye? really helped.”

“Yeah. I like to think he’d have moved from producing to directing if he’d lived,” she says gently. “He really did have a great eye. He didn’t get his camera out very often, but when he did it was always pretty special.”

“These are beautiful. I know I’m no art critic, but … just … you look phenomenal. Beautiful.”

“You know what?” she smiles, her head tilted as she looks across the series of shots again. “I really felt it. I was so lucky; as long as I kept eating those damned pickles, I had no morning sickness. It was a dream pregnancy.”  
“I wish …”  
“Nathan?”

“It’s a big part of how you got to be this version of you,” he says carefully. “I wish I’d been around. I wish I’d seen it; you know?”

She rests her hand on his arm and he feels something in his gut … something restless, or rest _ful_. Or both.

“Well,” she says with a grin, “you wouldn’t have seen _that_ , exactly,” she says indicating her naked form in the photographs.

“Seen it all before, Sawyer,” he chuckles.

“Perv.”  
“You betcha.”  
“I’m making tea. You want one?”

“Please.”

“So, tell me about this advertising thing?” she asks as she starts making the tea.

“My agent lined it up,” he explains in a flat voice. “I’m … not convinced. At all. But I have to at least take the meeting.”  
“What’s it for?”  
“A TV commercial.”

She laughs. Long and loud. Eventually, wiping tears away, she shakes her head.

“Nathan Scott, you really are turning into the ‘Superstar’ that Brooke always called you.”

“Well, thanks for the support.”  
“I’m sorry. I just … I really can’t see you in front of a camera. What’s the product?”

“Like I’m gonna tell you now,” he pouts. “You’ll just laugh your head off at me again.”

“What is it? Condoms?” she punches his arm, laughing again, and he wonders how he ever got through six years without her punching his arm and giving him a hard time.

“What!? You’re just …”

“C’mon. Tell me what it is!”

“It’s a body spray,” he admits, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“ _A body spray_?” she laughs incredulously. “I bet you don’t even use that shit!”

“Well, no … but … how do you know what … _shit_ I use?”

“Please!” she sniggers as she opens a cupboard to pull out a couple of nice mugs. “Those habits are established long before the grand old age of 25. I bet you still use the same shaving gel you used to use; the one in the green and black packaging. And the same deodorant, the one with no fragrance ‘cos you always said you didn’t want to smell like some pansy girl that had just walked out of a florist shop. You use a little bit of _unscented_ product in your hair if it’s a really big occasion. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re still using that Thierry Mugler cologne. What was it called? _Amen_?”

“Great. So now I’m boring?”

“Nope. You’re just a man’s man, Nathan Scott.”

“I think I need to find a new cologne if I’m that predictable,” he mumbles.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” she says with a shrug as she pours boiling water into their mugs.

“What does that mean?”  
“It means you shouldn’t change your cologne if it works.”  
“How does a cologne _work_?” he asks, looking bamboozled.

“It works if you smell good, you doofus.”

“You saying I smell good, Sawyer?”

“Maybe. When you’re not all drenched in workout sweat.”

“Hah! You love a guy with sweat on his chest, Sawyer.”   
He thinks she’ll be embarrassed, and blush and he’ll be able to rib her a bit more. He’s forgotten how quick witted she can be, and how she’s not afraid to get a little saucy herself.

“I love it when the guy works up a sweat _with_ me,” she corrects him. “And I am _not_ talking about in a _gym_.”

She takes her mug and heads towards the largest of the armchairs in the living room. He follows, taking the sofa, trying to think of a retort and coming up with nothing.

“You still think I smell good,” he eventually says belatedly, and a little lamely.

She shrugs. “You smell insanely good,” she says completely unselfconsciously. “And I’m allowed to say that because it was me that introduced you to that cologne. It’s like … bragging rights, or something.”

“You did?”

“Your sixteenth birthday. You thought I was nuts giving you that and you wouldn’t admit you liked it. And yet here you are, still wearing it … 10 years later. Go figure.”

He chuckles a little.

“Right. This is where I just give in and concede defeat, right?”  
“Yup,” she says, bringing her mug to her lips and grinning around it, peering at him, her eyebrows raised.

“What makes a 15-year-old girl buy cologne for a guy though?”

“I think it was new out,” she shrugs. “Well, new in Tree Hill anyway. And I smelt it and … it just seemed like you.”

She muses aloud that she thinks she needs ice cream and heads back into the kitchen to get some, after offering some to him too, which he declines, telling her she should know he’s sweet enough already. While she’s gone, he flicks through the photo album that’s sitting on the coffee table. She takes her seat again, curling her long legs up under her and closing her eyes when she tastes the first spoonful. When she opens her eyes, he’s studying her with an odd look on his face.

“What?”

He shrugs and shakes his head.

“Nathan! What?”

He spins the album around and points to the large photo that’s on the open page. It’s a close up of her and Julian; both grinning widely. Both with sunglasses atop their heads. The sides of their cheeks pressed together.

“Julian?” he asks. She just nods.

“You look really happy,” he observes.

“I was.”

“He looks …” but he stops.

“Yeah. He was really happy too. That was the day we found out we were having Jules.”

He nods, but there’s something else there.

“That’s not what you were going to say about him, is it?” she asks.

“Um. No.”  
“So? What then?”

“You don’t see it? You never saw it?”

“See what?”

“How much he looks like …”  
“Like who?” she asks, unconcerned, taking another spoonful of ice cream.

“Like Lucas.”

“He does not!” she chuckles, still unconcerned.

“Are you blind?”

“Are you? He’s brunette.”

“Yeah; he’s like … a brunette Lucas.”

“You’re seeing things that aren’t there,” she scoffs.  
“Look at that photo, Sawyer. Really look at it.”

She does, reluctantly, and concedes maybe, a little, in the shape of the face and the crinkly eyed smile. But that’s all. And it’s certainly not a connection she’d ever seen before.

“Peyton …”  
“Nate, what are you trying to say? That I had a kid with someone that I subconsciously thought of a Lucas Scott replacement? That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” he pushes.  
“Yes,” she says with conviction. “Absolutely. I told you. Lucas was an ass to me. An indecisive ass and then an ass that left me. I wasted way too much time pining after him, but I certainly did not _replace_ him with Julian. Why would I want to replace someone that brought me so much pain and heartache?”

Nathan looks at the photo again. “He just looks …”  
“All that shows is that I like a man with a crinkly eyed smile and a chiseled face. That’s hardly a surprise.”

“I still …”  
“Nathan. _You_ have a crinkly eyed smile and a chiseled face. _Jake_ has a crinkly eyed smile and a chiseled face. Was Julian a pseudo Nathan Scott _and_ a pseudo Jake Jagielski _and_ a pseudo Lucas Scott? Seriously? He wasn’t a pseudo anything. He was Julian. He was one of the best friend’s I ever had and he’s the father of _the_ best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Okay. I give in,” he says gently, with no trace of the sulks that would have come with the same words if he’d said them a decade ago. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”  
“I’m not upset,” she assures him. “I just … I still miss him sometimes. You know, having that sounding board? Having someone that lets me rant and ... and teases the crap out of me but still has my back, someone that tells me when I’m doing great and tells me when I should push harder and … anyway. I just … well … you know.”

She flips the album closed and rests her palm on the cover for a moment, startling a little when Nathan’s hand comes to rest on hers.

“Me,” he says quietly.

“Sorry?” she asks, lifting her eyes to meet his. “You what?”  
“I’ll tease the crap out of you and have your back and tell you when you’re doing great and … just. I will. Okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If you’ll let me.”  
She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but he knows it does. The glistening green eyes give it away.

“I’ll let you,” she says with a smirk. “But only ‘cos you smell good.”

  
  


Pippa drops Juliet back to Peyton’s earlyish the next morning and the girl is excited beyond measure when she sees Nathan sitting at the kitchen counter with her Mommy, both with a coffee and almost finished plates of eggs and toast in front of them.

“Nathan!” she cries, running to wrap her stick thin arms around his legs and hug him. “I didn’t know you were going to be here!”  
“I kinda didn’t know I was going to be here either, Munchkin.”

Juliet looks puzzled and he laughs at her wrinkled little nose.

“I messed up some dates, Juliet, and the only hotel I like is full up, so your Mommy took pity on me and let me sleep in your guest room.”

There’s a quiet “yeah, right” behind him and he turns to see a tall, slim, pretty woman about their age, with a mid-brown ponytail, immaculate make up and stylish glasses framing deep doe brown eyes. She’s dressed in an elegant yet slightly funky suit. Very arty.

“Nathan Scott, Pippa Baker. Pippa Baker, Nathan Scott,” Peyton says with an amused smile. “Don’t bother protesting our innocence Nate, she won’t believe you. She’s been nagging at me to _get back out there_ for months. Actually, years. So … let her believe what she wants. Maybe it’ll get her off my back!”

Pippa rolls her eyes at Peyton while she’s shaking Nathan’s hand.

“I’ll get _off_ your back, if you’ll get _on_ it every once in a while,” she says quietly enough that Juliet can’t hear, grinning at her niece’s mother and winking at Nathan.

“Oh, I like you already!” he says with a deep chuckle.

“Great,” Peyton mumbles. “I save your a … behind,” she corrects herself with a glance at her daughter, “give you a bed for a couple of nights and you repay me by taking _her_ side.”

“Her side seems pretty fun,” he retorts.

“Well her _back_ side needs to get outta here and go open our gallery,” Peyton retorts.

“ _Our_ gallery?” Pippa teases. “That would be _your_ gallery, where I slave on your behalf, _sis_.”

“And where I pay you handsomely for your services. Get outta here, Baker.”

Pippa laughs and spins on her heel, waving her hand cheerily as she goes.

“Thank you, Aunt P!” Jules yells out to her aunt, without prompting. Pippa turns back and opens her arms for Jules to run over for a hug.

“You’re welcome, Jules. You know I love our P&J in PJs nights.” She stands and looks suggestively from Peyton to Nathan. “Maybe now we’ll be able to have them a bit more often, sweetie.”

Peyton raises her eyebrow at the unsaid suggestion that there might be cause for her to want her daughter away from the house overnight more often and stands to start clearing the remnants of their breakfast.

“Juliet Sawyer Baker,” she calls, “take your backpack upstairs to your room, Pickle. And start thinking about what you’d like to do today.”

“Play with Nathan,” she says immediately, then skips away from the grown-ups with her backpack.

Pippa bursts into raucous laughter, mutters _“well aren’t you your mommy’s daughter”,_ waves again and is gone.  
  


When Peyton looks up from stacking the dishwasher, Nathan is watching her. The second their eyes meet, they both grin then start laughing hard.

“God,” she says, tears from the laughter on her cheeks, “I’m sorry. Pippa’s kind of incorrigible.”  
“I like her,” he says, still chuckling. “She’s kind of … she’s like someone put half of you and half of Brooke together in one body.”

“Oh Lord! That’s a dangerous … actually,” she stops and shakes her head. “Actually, that’s really _true!_ I never thought of it that way but maybe that’s why Pip and I hit it off so well right from the start. So … how are you going to kill your time today? Need me to point you towards a gym?”

“Could you? That’d be awesome.”  
“Yeah, there’s one that I used to go to just around the corner from the gallery. You could head in there and then meet Jules and I at the gallery later and we’ll find somewhere for lunch.”  
“You don’t need to …”

She waves her hand dismissing his protests. “Sure, I do. Apparently, my daughter is besotted with you. I’ll totally be in the bad books if we don’t spend some time with you today.”

He grins and shrugs and opens his mouth to make a smartass comment when she stops him.

“One word about Scott boys and Sawyer girls and you’re sleeping on a park bench tonight!”  
“My lips are sealed,” he grins, getting to his feet. “Right, I’ll get a cab organized.”  
“Why? Take my car.”  
“You’re going to let me drive the Comet?” He sounds excited. He _is_ excited.  
“Oh _hell_ no! Do you not remember what happened last time you drove the Comet?”

He looks a bit baffled for a moment.

“Side swiping a parked car? Bending my baby around a streetlight?” she says, hand on hip. “Fleeing the scene? Trying to pin it on your brother? Or Tim? Or … anyone but you!?”

“Oh,” he says with an embarrassed half smile. “Yeah. I was _such_ a jerk! What did you _ever_ see in me?”

She laughs and passes him some car keys, grabbing a post it pad from the bowl of odds and sods on the counter and scribbling the addresses for the gym and the gallery on the top one. “You can take the boring family SUV. Jules and I will take the Comet. It’s a treat for her; she doesn’t get to ride in it very often.”

He thanks her and heads down to the guest room, grabbing his gear bag, wallet and phone. When he comes out, she’s sitting back at the counter with another coffee in front of her, looking pensive.

“So,” he says, “what time at the gallery?”  
“How’s 12.30?”  
“Perfect. I’ll see you and Jules then.”

He’s taken a few steps when he hears her call his name. He turns and waits.

“This is what I saw,” she says simply.

“Sorry?”

“You asked what I saw in you, back then. _This_ is what I saw. I knew you _could_ be a great guy. I knew you _would_ get to here.”

He smiles and nods.

“Yeah,” he says just as simply. “You did. It’s a shame I took so long, huh?”

She watches his back as he walks away. He’s wrong. He didn’t take all that long to become a great guy. Within months of their teenaged selves breaking up for good, he’d virtually done a 180°. Sure, there was the odd slip up after that, but by and large … Nathan was reformed a long time ago. It was her that took longer, she thinks.  
  


He gets to the gallery early and wanders around checking out the space and the exhibition from a collective of Venice Beach artists. Pippa’s tied up speaking to a couple that are deliberating between two large works, but she waves and indicates that he should make himself at home and take a seat. He grins and gestures back that he’ll keep wandering, and he’s glad he does. He finds himself in a smaller adjoining area and standing in front of three paintings. They’re square and of a uniform size, hung in a horizontal row to form a connected group. Abstract. But the layer upon layer upon layer of paint somehow becomes three dimensional when he lets his gaze relax.

The first is a subtle array of greys and silvers bursting out of black. When he looks at it for more than a few seconds at a time he feels like he’s being sucked out of a tunnel and pulled to safety. He really can’t explain it any other way. The next is similar but lighter; silvers and whites exploding out of grey. The third is just whites. Who knew there could be so many different whites? It’s … he can’t even begin to describe the feeling he gets looking at it. Just … he’s whole. Complete.

“They’re new,” Pippa says from behind him. “You have good taste.”

“I … I’m not arty,” he dissembles. “I don’t really get all this stuff …”

“But you feel drawn to them, right?” she asks, her eyebrow quirked in question.  
“Yeah.”  
“Explain that then …” she suggests as she removes her glasses and polishes them on the hem of her shirt.

“It’s just like they … this is weird …”

“There’s no right or wrong,” she says kindly. “At least _, I_ don’t think there is. Art should make you feel something. Don’t think about it, just say the first thing you think when I ask you … what do they make you _feel_?”

“Like they know me,” he finds himself saying.

Pippa smiles and pats his arm. “They’re Peyton’s.”

“They are? I … she said she’d just started painting again.”  
“She hasn’t painted for years; from what I can tell. I’ve certainly never seen her; not until a few weeks back. These were the first three. We hung them yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to put the title cards up.”

“What did she call them?” he asks, curious.

Pippa steps back to the desk and picks up three cream cards, with beautifully handwritten titles, and passes them to him.

He reads the first. _Companion Piece AKA Safety?_

And the next. _Companion Piece AKA What Is This?_

And then the third. _Companion Peace AKA No, This is Love._

He looks at them again and makes a connection. A connection to a canvas in his Mom’s guest room. A canvas he’s almost certain is the same size as these ones. A black canvas. A canvas sarcastically entitled _Love_ by a seventeen-year-old blonde.

“Put sold on them,” he says, handing the cards back to Pippa.

“Um. All of them?”  
“Yes,” he says firmly, turning back to look at them again. “They have to stay together.”  
“Did you see those prices?”

“Yup. I’m good for it.”  
“You’re a pro ball player; I know you’re good for it. But … I’m pretty sure she put ridiculous prices on them because she doesn’t know if she actually _wants_ them to sell.”

“So, tell her they’ve sold. Don’t tell her it’s me. If she freaks out, we can cancel it. But … I … you know what? Either way, I need this to be a confidential sale.”

“You’re the buyer, so if you want to be all secret squirrel, so be it,” Pippa says, searching his face for … something. “You … you were going to buy them anyway, weren’t you? Before I told you they’re hers?”

“I think so, yeah,” he says, his gaze returning to the canvases. “I’ve never bought art before, but … yeah. I kind of had to have them.”  
“Good. Pieces _should_ go to someone that just has to have ...”

She’s interrupted by the door charm tinging and Juliet’s voice calling out to her Aunt P.

“You might want to be in another room when they see you,” she says to Nathan, “if you want that sale to be confidential, I mean.”

He nods and wanders through to another small space while Pippa begins mounting the cards under the _Companion_ series.

“Aunt P!”

“Hey Jules! How was your morning with your Mommy?”

“Fun! We made cookies.”  
“Did you bring me one?”

“Yes! I put two on your desk. They are _delicious_!”

“Well, thanks poppet.”

Peyton steps into the room, checking a message on her phone and smiles a hello at Pippa while she texts a reply.

“Hey,” she says a few moments later, “how’s the morning been here?”

“Good,” Pippa grins. “ _Really_ good, in fact. I sold the two Mason’s.”

“ _Both_ of them?” Peyton exclaims, stopping on the spot, her jaw dropping in surprise.

“Couple that each wanted one and neither would give in, so I got cheeky and suggested they take both … in the interests of avoiding marital discord, of course.”

“ _Both_ of them?” Peyton repeats. “Pippa, wow! Now that’s why I keep you on!”

Pippa spots Nathan entering the room and he waves as if he’s just arrived.

“And …” she continues to Peyton, “some guy came in and stared at your _Companions_ pieces for ages.”  
“Oh,” Peyton says with an odd twist to her mouth. “Really? Well, that’s good. That someone liked them, I mean. I still have no idea where they came from. I just … the paint seemed to apply itself.”

“Are they yours?” Nathan asks, all innocence, gesturing towards the triptych.

Peyton nods, a little coyly.

“They’re cool,” he says, nodding and crossing his arms over his chest. “I like them.”  
“He said they have to stay together,” Pippa tells Peyton, “the guy that saw them earlier, I mean.”

Peyton laughs. “Right. Well no one’s going to pay that much just to keep them together. Nice thought though.”  
“I think he might come back for them,” Pippa muses.

“You just sold a month’s turnover this morning,” Peyton laughs, “steady on!”

“We’ll see,” Pippa says, walking out of the room to her desk. “Well, I’ve got _my_ lunch courtesy of the Sawyer Baker girls’ baking. Where are you three going for lunch?”  
Nathan watches as Pippa takes a bite out of the cookie and looks back at Peyton with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

“You sure that’s wise, Pippa?” he asks.

“What?” she says, her mouth half full.

“Eating food that Sawyer made?”

“She’s a good cook,” Pippa says, looking between them, confused.

He splutters, and Peyton walks past him, punching him on the arm as she does.

“I told you!” she exclaims. “Not being so culinarily challenged was number 1 on the list, baby!”

He wanders over to Pippa’s desk and surreptitiously leaves his credit card on her desk while pretending to inspect her cookies. “I’ll believe it,” he teases back, “when I eat something you cook, no smoke alarms go off and I don’t have to go to the emergency room.”

“Pickle,” Peyton says, throwing him a look full of daggers, “make a note; no cookies for dessert for Nathan tonight.”

“Mommy, that’s mean!” her daughter exclaims, looking horrified.

“Yeah, Mommy,” he says, smirking dangerously, “that’s _really_ mean!”

“Fine!” she says, arms on her hips, “You can have _one_. And no more until you admit you are wrong, wrong, wrong about my culinary skills.”

They have a great lunch, followed by ice cream, into which Peyton is coerced by joint force puppy dog eyes from her daughter and her daughter’s new best friend, the Charlotte Bobcats’ Comeback Kid point guard. Nathan insists they call back into the gallery to make sure Pippa hasn’t suffered any ill effects from Peyton’s baking, and, when Pippa tells Peyton to go check out the other room, he pockets the credit card she hands back to him.

“I do the accounts,” she says quietly. “She’ll never know it’s your name on the card.”

He nods and looks up as Peyton sticks her head back around the corner.

“Um … Pippa? They’ve all got sold dots on them. _Companions_.”  
“State the obvious much, boss?”  
“He came back?”  
“Yeah. Told you.”  
“That’s … a bit crazy,” Peyton says, shaking her head and turning back to look at the paintings and the dots. “I … really?”

“Really,” Pippa confirms. “But … that’s not all.”

“What?”

“Someone else came in after the dots were up and left details in case the sale falls through. And they want to be contacted as soon as you have more work available to view.”  
“You’re joking,” Peyton says, her eyes large.

Nathan turns to look at Pippa too, clearly wondering if she’s just embellishing.

“Nope,” she says firmly, nodding. “Dead serious. So, you’d better hope this mad painting thing continues for a bit, sis. You officially have a market.”

As the three of them walk down the street, Jules takes Peyton’s hand and pulls her to a stop.

“Mommy are you sad?”  
“No, sweetie, I’m not sad,” Peyton replies gently, a little distractedly, her mind still not quite here. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re being very quiet. When I’m very quiet it’s usually because I’m sad.”

“Well, I’m not sad.”  
“Then why are you being so quiet?”

“Because I’m a little … confused, I think.”  
“What’s that?”  
“Confused is when you can’t work something out, or sometimes it’s when you can’t work out how you feel about something.”  
Nathan smiles; she’s amazing, the way she explains things so carefully and yet so simply.

“Why are you confused, Mommy?”

“Because someone paid an awful lot of money for my paintings.”  
“Didn’t you want someone to buy your paintings?”

“I … you know, I’m not sure, Pickle.”

“Now _I’m_ confused,” Juliet says sweetly, after thinking for a moment, keeping her Mom’s hand in hers and then starting to walk again.

“Why are _you_ confused, Jules?”

“Because you and Aunt P work in the gallery. And your work is to make people buy the art things. And now you made some art things. And someone paid lots of money for them. But you said you don’t know if you wanted them to. I don’t really get it.”

“I’m not sure I get it either,” Peyton answers with a wry chuckle. “I think when your job is to sell the things _other_ people make, it’s easy to let them go. But when you make the things yourself, sometimes it’s hard to let them go.”

“Is that like when I made that really pretty card with lots of sparkles for Aunt P’s birthday and it was so pretty, I wanted to keep it?”

“It’s a _lot_ like that, Pickle.”  
“Mommy, you told me that by being brave and giving the card to Aunt P I’d make two people happy. I’d still be happy because I _made_ a beautiful thing and Aunt P would be happy because I _gave_ her a beautiful thing.”

“That’s right … I did say that, didn’t I?”  
Nathan touches her shoulder briefly and she turns to look at him, a question in her eyes.

“Amazing Mom,” he mouths at her. She smiles, flushes a little and shakes her head.

“Mommy?”  
“Jules?”  
“You made beautiful paintings that made you happy, didn’t you?”  
“Um, yeah. I … they _did_ make me feel happy.”  
“And now they’ll make another person happy.”

Peyton drops to a crouch in the middle of the pavement and pulls her daughter into a hug, then kisses her madly all over her face.

“Juliet Sawyer Baker, _you_ are amazing,” she says to the little girl, with a broad smile.

“Your Mommy is making people smile with her work, Juliet,” Nathan says with a nudge to Peyton’s side as she stands up. Juliet nods and takes a new spot between the two of them, taking both of their hands in hers and demanding that they swing her.

Peyton and Nathan’s eyes meet over her head and she mouths _Thanks_ to him. He just winks and asks Juliet if she’s ready for a big swing.

“Yes!” she giggles. “A big, _big_ swing.”

Several swings later and a little breathlessly, it’s Nathan’s turn to be quizzed by Juliet.

“Nathan?”  
“Yes Miss Juliet?”  
“What do you do for your work?”  
“I play basketball.”

“Basketball isn’t work!” she giggles at him.

“I guess that seems kind of strange, right?” he laughs.

“Uh-huh. Are you _sure_ basketball is your work?”

“I’m sure. And I know I’m very, very lucky to get to do something that I love so much and get paid for it.”  
“Does it make people smile like the art things do?”

“It does. I think it’s mainly different people to the arty people. But it does make them smile, and laugh, and cheer and stand up in their seats and yell and scream with excitement.”  
“Well, that sounds cool,” she says with her eyes sparkling.

“Would you like to come and watch me play sometime?” he asks.

“Yes, please!” she shrieks excitedly. “When? Soon?”

“Well, the season starts soon. And my games won’t be here in LA where you live because I play in what’s called the Eastern Conference and LA is in the Western Conference, but there will be one invitational game in a few weeks.”  
“What’s an inv … invitational game?”  
“That means the points don’t count for the competition, but there’s maybe another reason for the game.”

“What’s the reason for this game?”  
“It’s raising money for a charity.”

“Well that’s a nice thing to do, isn’t it?” she says.

“It is,” he agrees with her. “I like it when my team can do good things like that.”

“Mommy can we go watch that game?”  
“I’ll probably be at that game anyway, sweetie.”  
“Doing the basketball drawings?”  
“That’s right.”  
“Oh,” she says, disappointedly.

“Maybe your Mom would let you go with your Aunt P?” Nathan suggests.

“Mommy!?” she squeals excitedly. “Please? Can I?”  
“Sounds like a good idea to me. We’ll check out the date with Aunt Pippa. If it’s okay with her, it’s okay with me.”

“Sweet!”

“Sweet? Where did you hear that?”  
Juliet shrugs. “I dunno. One of the kids at my play group says it, I think. You know? You two both have really fun jobs, don’t you?”

“We sure do,” Peyton says with a grin.

“And if you didn’t both do the jobs you do, then you might not have gotten to see each other again.”


	7. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looks at her, still stunned at the degree to which she’s left the Lucas Scott baggage behind, and totally in awe of her quiet power. And actually, he thinks, he really would like to see her go into protective Mama Bear mode. He’d like that quite a lot.

The intervening weeks seem to fly by and before they know it, Nathan has flown into LA, stayed the night at the Sawyer residence – Juliet wouldn’t have a bar of him staying anywhere else – and Pippa has arrived to collect her niece and take her out for a day of seeing friends and family before the aunt and niece duo attend the Lakers – Bobcats invitational.

“Oh!” Nathan exclaims to Pippa and Juliet, as he heads towards the guest room. “Don’t go just yet. I’ll be back in a minute.”  
“So, my darling wee Pickle,” Pippa says to Jules as they wait for his return, “which team are we supporting?”

The girl looks stricken all of a sudden and stands stock still, looking bewildered as her glance switches from Pippa to Peyton and back.

“What’s the trouble, bubble?” Peyton asks her gently.

“I … I don’t know which team to support,” she replies with a trembling chin.

“Any team you want, Jules,” Peyton replies.

“But I don’t _know_ which one I want to support!” Juliet cries as if it’s the hardest dilemma she’s ever faced.

“Honey, that doesn’t matter …”

“Yes, it _does_ , Mommy!” she protests. “I have to support the _right_ team.”  
“Do you mean the team that will win? Because you know we’ve talked about that before. Both teams will try their hardest. Usually we cheer for all good plays.”  
“No, it’s …” she turns her big green eyes to Nathan, who has just reentered the room, then back to her Mom, still looking confused. Peyton crouches in front of her and wraps an arm around her little shoulders, kissing her temple.

“What are you worried about, Jules?”

“I want to support the Lakers because they’re the LA team and my Daddy was from LA. And Aunt P is. And most of my family. And we live in LA.”

“Then you support the Lakers; that’s fine.”  
“But I want to support the Bobcats too, because they’re from North Carolina, and that’s where _you’re_ from. And Nathan. And Nathan is a Bobcat and he’s our friend and he gave us our tickets.”

“Well, that’s a pretty even list, isn’t it?” Peyton asks sympathetically.

“It’s hard, Mommy!” Juliet whines. “Making the right decision is _hard_.”

“Oh sweetie, I know. I really do. We need a tie breaker, don’t we?”

“Maybe I can help with that,” Nathan says gently as he brings his hands forward from behind his back, revealing a couple of Bobcats jerseys. Pippa immediately takes the larger of the two, quickly inspects it, grins wryly and pulls it on over her head. She catches Peyton’s eye and grins mischievously before she turns around to reveal the back of the shirt: _Scott 23_.

While Jules enthusiastically copies her aunt’s actions, Pippa winks at Nathan, points to his chest then to her own back, raising at eyebrow at Peyton in jest. Peyton rolls her eyes and mutters that Pippa wouldn’t be the first woman to have 23 on her back but at least in her case it wasn’t _tattooed_.

“Okay,” Pippa drawls, “explaining _that_ later.”

“Ta-da!” Jules shouts with glee, twirling in her green jersey, all angst gone. “I _love_ it! Thank you, Nathan.”

“You’re welcome, Munchkin. So … do you think that earns my team a few cheers?”

“I think I’ll support mainly the Bobcats, but is it okay if I cheer for the Lakers when they make a really good play? Mommy always says that’s being a good sport.”

“I think I can live with that,” Nathan grins.

“Alright, we need to hit the road, missy” Pippa instructs. “Early lunch with Laura and Joe, afternoon tea with your grandparents then on to the big game.”

They head off, with hugs all round, a sweet _Good luck_ kiss on the cheek from Jules to Nathan, and a smirked aside from him about a second generation of Sawyer girls being his favourite cheerleader.

Nathan and Peyton hang out at the house, her making them a delicious lunch that has him chuckling that he still finds it hard to believe she’s no longer a disaster in the kitchen and asking what he can do to thank her. She tells him she’s glad he asked and throws him the dishcloth and washing up liquid.

“You do realise I’m a bigshot?” he teases. “No one else makes me wash dishes.”

“Just keeping you grounded, Nate,” she retorts as she picks up a tea towel and stands beside him, drying as he washes.

“You know,” he says after a few minutes, “you do actually seem to have a perfectly good dishwasher …”

“Maybe I just like watching you work, Scott!”

“Nice,” he mutters.

“I use the dishwasher most of the time … sometimes I do them by hand if I’m thinking … or need to calm down,” she explains.

“You know who else does that?”

“No ... who?”

“Your almost fiancé,” he replies as if it’s obvious, but she merely looks puzzled. “Lucas, dummy.”

“Oh God,” she replies, shaking her head. “I have _never_ thought of him as my almost fiancé. What on earth made you say that?”

He shrugs a little as if it doesn’t matter, then pauses when his phone buzzes.

“Shit. Wet hands. Can you grab my phone out of my back pocket and answer it?”

“You just want my hands on your ass, you big perv!” she teases. “I’ll flick it on speaker and pop it up here though … I’m not answering it myself though; that’s girlfriend territory.”

He laughs and nods, so she grabs his phone, makes a goony play out of not looking at the screen by turning her head to the side, hits accept, still without looking, pops it on speaker phone and places it on the windowsill above the sink.

“Hey, it’s Nathan.”

“Hey, man.”

Nathan looks at Peyton. _Speak of the devil_ , he mouths at her making her flick at him with her tea towel. He’s clearly contemplating grabbing it out of her hands and starting a tea towel war when the voice comes from the phone again.

“Nate?”

“Yeah ... sorry. Hey, Luke. What’s up?”

Peyton continues to dry dishes and put them away, being careful not to make any clattering noises. Nathan watches her while he talks, gauging her reaction. He’s not yet sure if he’s convinced by her apparent disinterest in his brother. They just haven’t really talked about the other Scott boy since … since she first walked back into his life and they had that dinner at which he met Juliet and re-met Larry and the two of them, Nathan and Peyton, got caught up on her life post … everything.

“I’m in LA right now; for some meetings tomorrow. Thought maybe I could catch your invitational game tonight and we could have a couple of beers afterwards?” his brother suggests.

“Umm ... yeah … it’s sold out from what I hear. I’ll need to see if there’s any unused family seats.” “What?” Lucas laughs. “Am I not good enough for one of yours?”

“Yeah, of course … but I’ve already given them to some friends.”

Peyton waves at him, gesturing that Pippa and Jules can go another time; he merely frowns at her. But she persists.

“Hang on a tick, Luke,” he says as he dries one of his hands quickly and lightly covers his phone mic.

“Nate, I can call Pippa and Juliet; they can go another time,” Peyton insists.

“No way!” he says forcefully. “Jules was so excited. I can probably get Luke another seat. Besides … he’s left it pretty late. I didn’t even know he was in town.”

Lucas can vaguely hear voices and can tell there’s a female there, that a conversation of some sort of occurring, but the words are not at all clear enough for him to make them out.

“Hey Luke. Let me make a couple of calls and get back toyou. It’ll be okay I’m sure – we’re a long way from Charlotte and there’s no way everyone will have used their allocated family tickets. I’ll text you with an okay and which gate to pick it up from, yeah?”

“Sounds good. And you want to catchup afterwards?”

“Sure. Probably just for one beer though … got to watch the intake when we’re playing.”

“Your hotel?”

“Ah ... maybe yours?” Nathan angles.

“I’m a long way from the stadium; yours’ll be closer.”

“Yeah, I’m not actually staying at the team hotel,” Nathan concedes, clearly reluctantly.

“That’s not like you. What’s up?”

Nathan raises his eyebrows at Peyton in question; she knows he’s asking if she minds him saying where he is. She shrugs that she has no issues with it and continues with drying dishes.

“I’m … just staying with a friend on this trip,” he eventually explains to his brother. “Catching up.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise you had contacts in LA.”

“Pro ball player dude; contacts all over the place!”

“Right! Okay. Well text me with the green light and I’ll text you back with my hotel details. It’ll be good to catch up Nate, it’s been a while.”

At the invitational, Lucas Scott can’t help but notice, a few rows ahead of him, an attractive woman and a gorgeous preschooler, both enthusiastically supporting the Bobcats, particularly Nathan; not surprising when they’re wearing his number on their backs. At one point, the little girl turns around and looks up at the crowd behind her, taking in the crowds, the atmosphere and laughing with excitement. He wonders why she seems so incredibly familiar. He’s not close enough to notice her green, ever so green, oh so green eyes which would no doubt have enabled him to place her facial features and curly hair.

The Bobcats win in a tight game, with Nathan both scoring in the last minute to tie it up and then setting up the actual winning shot, with single figure digits on the clock, with a brilliant assist for his teammate. The girls ahead of him, he assumes mother and daughter, go crazy.

As the crowd gathers belongings and begins to filter out, those 23-jersey-wearing girls climb to his row and he waits at the end of his row, gesturing to them to walk ahead of him.

“Thank you,” the woman smiles.

“Pleasure,” he smiles back before gesturing to the girl. “You’ve got a keen little basketball fan there.”

Juliet looks to Pippa for the okay to speak to this ‘stranger’ and Pippa nods.

“We were cheering mainly for the Bobcats,” she explains, “but a little bit for the Lakers too.” She’s delightful; confident but not brash, engaged but not seeking attention.

“I saw that,” he says, smiling. “That was very fair of you.”

“We couldn’t really decide which team to cheer for and my Mommy says it’s best to cheer all the good plays.”

“That sounds very smart of your Mommy,” he says, looking at Pippa.

“This isn’t my Mommy,” Juliet giggles. “This is my Aunt P.”

“Oh. Silly me.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know. Were you cheering mainly for the Bobcats?”

“I was cheering _only_ for the Bobcats. I see you and your Aunt P are wearing number 23. That’s a pretty cool jersey number.”

“This is Nathan Scott’s number,” Juliet says proudly as she nods, her curls bobbing up and down.

“I know that.”

“Nathan is friends with my Mommy,” she adds.

“Is that right?” he asks, sounding too interested, Pippa thinks as she intervenes.

“C’mon sweetie, we need to get going,” she says calmly but firmly. “We’re holding people up here.”

And they’re gone.

It’s been a couple hours. Seated comfortably, tucked away in a quiet corner of the bar of Lucas’ hotel, the one Scott boy is onto his third beer. The other is nursing his first and won’t have another.

Nathan had wondered why Lucas was so insistent on catching up, and he now knows. Lucas has filled Nathan in on a potentially lucrative offer; someone wants to option the movie rights for _Ravens_. And there’s talk of him writing the screen play if he wants to go ahead. Nathan congratulates him sincerely, wonders idly who the offer’s from, and repeats the name Lucas gives him inside his own head a few times so that he can remember it to tell Peyton. Paul Norris. Paul Norris. Paul Norris. Paul Norris.

As they’re heading across the lobby, so that Nathan can grab a cab, Lucas suddenly stops and grabs Nathan’s elbow to stop him.

“Nate, I need to ask you something.”

“What’s up?” Nathan asks, turning back to see that his brother looks decidedly twitchy.

“Are you … are you seeing someone?”

Nathan just looks at him.

“I just … I think if you are, it’s only fair that you let Hales know,” Lucas says, though he really does look like he knows he’s potentially out of line.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well ... she’s entitled to know if you are.”

“We’re divorced,” Nathan says neutrally, but crosses his arms over his chest, maybe not quite _defensively_ , but definitely indicating Lucas should proceed caution.

“Well yeah … but …”

“No, Luke, we’re _divorced_. It’s been final for over two years. _She_ left _me,_ remember. If there were kids involved them yeah, it’s a courtesy to keep each other posted, but in our situation, there is no obligation.”

“I just think you should,” Lucas pushes.

“Right,” Nathan scoffs. “Like the way _she_ let _me_ know when she jumped into bed with you?”

“That’s different; it was ...”

“It was _different_ alright,” Nathan interrupts. He’s heard this shit before. He doesn’t need to hear it again. “It was only a couple of months after she and I split, and you kept it all hush-hush for a few more months. I don’t think either of you are in any position to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do regarding my personal life.”

“I didn’t say this was coming from her. I just … it seems like you are and ...”

“Based on what evidence?”

“Geeze … _evidence?_ It’s not a crime!”

“Damn straight it wouldn’t be a crime,” Nathan asserts. “I just don’t see what you’re basing this on …”

“I head a woman’s voice in the background when I was talking to you earlier today. And there was this woman and girl just in front of me at the game, wearing your jersey number. The little girl said her Mom was friends with you. She was a cutie. Gorgeous blonde curls. Smart too.”

“She’s amazing,” Nathan agrees instinctively, his words accompanied by a warm, wide smile and a twinkle in his eye.

“And you’re seeing her Mom?”

“Geeze. No! You’ve taken 2 and 2 and come up ...”

“7?”

“… an assumption; an incorrect assumption and a pile of nonsense. I am not seeing anyone, let alone Jules’ Mom.”

“Alright already!” Lucas protests, his hands up in that typical ‘don’t shoot me’ Lucas gesture. “I should let you get going. Look Nate, it was good to catch up, this little disagreement notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah sure,” Nathan shrugs. “I’ll see you Luke.”

He takes a couple of steps, then turns back, shaking his head as if he doesn’t believe he’s about to do this. Mainly because he _doesn’t_ believe he’s about to do this.

“Luke.”

Lucas turns back and raises his eyebrow in question.

“Juliet …”

“Juliet?”

“That little girl’s name. Juliet.”

“I’m not sure why you’re telling me ... it’s not like I’ll ever see her again.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“What? You’re gonna tell me her last name is Scott and she’s the result of some sordid affair you had while you were married to my best friend?”

“Man, you are such a dick sometimes,” Nathan says firmly. “I never cheated on Hales. The two of you may never believe me, but it’s the truth.”

“So … what then? Another Dan Scott mess?”

“Her name is Juliet Sawyer Baker.”

“Sawyer?” Lucas pulls the name out instantly.

“She’s Sawyer’s daughter, Lucas. Peyton is her Mom.”

Despite jumping to far more dramatic storylines, Lucas is wide eyed at that piece of information and Nathan can tell he’s calculating dates.

“You’re in touch with Peyton?” Lucas asks in disbelief. “Since when?”

“A little while … and you are such an idiot.”

“What? Why?”

“You were actually doing the math to try to work out if there’s any way Juliet could be yours; you really are a dick.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Oh, you so were! She’s _three_ , Lucas. She’s tall and could maybe pass for almost four, but no more than that. Correct me if I’m wrong but pretty sure the last time you saw Sawyer was when you abandoned her in that hotel room. That was more than six years ago. And yeah, Lucas, I did say _abandoned_ and yeah, I do actually now know the _whole story_ about what went on, and you weren’t exactly completely honest about that, were you? Maybe because you knew you’d get nowhere near as much sympathy if you were.”

“I’m not getting into ...”

“No, you’re not ‘cos it’s ancient history,” Nathan says forcefully, noting Lucas’ wince, “and it’s irrelevant.” Another wince from his brother. “Anyway. Like you said. Good to catch up.”

He walks away but gets only a few steps.

“Nathan.”

“Yeah?”

“How is she? Peyton. How is she?”

“What do you want to hear Luke?”

“I don’t know what you …”

“You want to hear that she never recovered from you being a total ass? That she’s still working at that crappy little assistant to the assistant job? That she never found her way after you left her a wreck?”

“Shit Nate. That’s …”

Nathan holds hand up, shakes his head.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. That’s all me, by the way, not her. We haven’t really discussed you at all since we’ve been back in touch … how is she? You always said she had greatness in her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You were right. She did. And now it’s all around her. She has an amazing business. Her talent has developed in a way that is just … I can’t describe it really ... I’m not arty.”

“Art? Not music …”

“Art. She has her own gallery. She works with the …” he stops. Shit. He’s really not sure if he can say she works with the Angels or not. He thinks that might be an ‘on need to know basis’ thing. He’s pretty sure he remembers her talking about NDAs. And her Angels work is anonymous. But her Bobcats work is signed. It’s not a secret. “Bobcats. She’s working with the team. Sketches. Portraits. Merch stuff.”

“That’s how you …”

“Yeah. Total coincidence. Back in touch through that. Since July.”

“July? It’s _September_ , Nathan … you didn’t think to mention this before now?”

“Yeah, I did. And I decided not to.”

“You mean she asked you not to.”

“If that’s what I meant to say, that’s what I would have said. She was more than happy for me to say where I was this afternoon, I chose not to.”

“You were with her this afternoon? “  
“Sure. I’m staying with her and Juliet on this trip.”

“So, it’s _Peyton_ that you’re seeing?”

“What are you, a one-track minded gossip columnist? I’m _not_ seeing anyone. Sawyer and I … we were really good friends towards the end of high school, and we let it go. We let time and distance get in the way, and we shouldn’t have. We’re getting it back. No … we’ve _got_ it back. She’s … probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“So … she’s good?”

“She’s not just good. She’s … amazing really. Accomplished, successful …”

“Happy?”

“Very. Great colleagues, strong support base, beautiful daughter.”

And he just knew that Lucas wanted to know if the father was on the scene, but he wasn’t going to give him that unless he asked outright, and maybe not even then ... but he knew that Lucas wouldn’t be able to bring himself to ask.

“Good. Well … tell her I said hello, I guess.”

“Of course. Look ... I really do need to get going. I’ll see you next time.”

He nervously passes on the greeting from Lucas when he gets back to her place and she shrugs rather nonchalantly and says ‘that’s nice’. When Nathan tells her about the movie offer, still nervously, mentioning that Lucas had said the producer, _Paul Morris or Norris or something like that_ , has serious credentials, she is genuinely excited for Luke.

“I thought you’d be … I don’t know … anxious or something?”  
“Paul _Norris_ is Julian’s Dad, Nathan, and I made Julian read _Ravens_ when he was still well. I told him it’d make a great movie. He had a whole plan worked up before he died but he never got to put it into action. The plan will have been passed on to Paul. Hmmm … God, I _really_ hope it was.”

“Why?” he asks, not entirely taking in that it was, by the sounds of it, _her_ that somehow got this movie thing underway, albeit years ago.

“Because Julian had clear notes that when permissions were sought from the leading ‘characters’ that my name had to be changed!”

“Okay, well you took those two bits of news well. Can we make it a triple?”  
“I dunno,” she laughs. “Can we?”

“It … sounds like Lucas was sitting really near Pippa and Juliet at the game?” he says, cringing a little. “And … he may have spoken to them?”

“Sounds like? May have?”

“Okay. Was. And did.”

“And?”  
“Um … I think that’s all I know … maybe a few words were exchanged as they left? Like … that they were there supporting me, or … something?”

“I guess there was a reasonable chance of that happening,” she muses, “if there friends and family eating is zoned.”  
“Yeah, it is.”  
“So ... no harm done?”

“Well … not as far as I now, but Peyton …”  
“Nathan … he’s your brother. He’s part of your life. He’s my ex. He’s not part of my life. But … I get that those worlds will intersect occasionally. I mean … I don’t care. At all. Really, I don’t. Unless he does anything or says anything out of line to my kid, in which case, he’d better find a damned good hiding place, quite frankly, because _no one_ wants to see me when I go into protective Mama Bear mode.”

He looks at her, still stunned at the degree to which she’s left the Lucas Scott baggage behind, and totally in awe of her quiet power. And actually, he thinks, he really _would_ like to see her go into protective Mama Bear mode. He’d like that quite a lot.

What might have been a burgeoning ‘thing’ with Bobby has gone nowhere. There has certainly been some lingering looks and some long, languid shared smiles and they’ve had some lovely light and _brief_ chats on the sideline, but they both have a job to do when they’re courtside. She knows he has children; it doesn’t bother her one little bit, of course, but she understands firsthand the time a family takes. And she’s juggling two cities after all. She’s really _almost_ forgotten about the ‘pinned’ dinner when he catches her at her car one Friday evening and suggests that, in lieu of the long-promised dinner, he shows her a little of Charlotte the next day. His kids are with their Mom and he has no outstanding team business. She tilts her head to the side and asks him, in a teasing manner, what he had in mind.

“Bechtler’s?”

“The Museum of Modern Art?” she all but gushes. “Strong move, Irons. _Late_ … but strong.”  
“Oh Lord,” he says, shaking his head, “I deserve that. I’m …”  
“If you apologise right now,” she interrupts, “then we have no deal on the date.”

“Peyton …”  
“Bobby, please … when we count in kids, busy jobs, multiple cities, and goodness knows what else … it was never going to be plain sailing, right?”  
“Right,” he concedes.

“So … Bechtler’s, then?”

It’s a beautiful day the next day, maybe too nice a day to spend it indoors, but she’s wanted to visit this place since it opened in 2010. She wouldn’t have predicted doing so with a basketball coach, but there you go.

She meets him out front of the striking building and spends the next couple of hours spellbound, filling her gaze with images and inspiration and … motivation maybe. Her hand twitches involuntarily several times as she loses herself in some gigantic canvases.

Until that triptych had come out of nowhere, the one that had sold so quickly and for such a ridiculous amount of money at her own gallery, it had been … a very long time since she’d painted. Then all of a sudden, as if she hadn’t had enough on with her new work with the Bobcats and the cross-continent travel that required, the thought had crossed her mind a few times; wispy, flighty hankerings that had floated on through, resisting any attempt to slow them down or examine them. As things had developed with the Bobcats work, those thoughts had seemed to move away less rapidly until they metamorphosized into a full-on itch to paint that literally wouldn’t leave her alone. And that triptych had just … manifested itself. It had left her drained for a couple of weeks, with no excess energy to even think about painting, but now those currents are eddying in her mind again, a resurgent tide of longing to paint. It’s almost like her fingers are moving to try and grasp the flow.

She’s enthralled. But not so much so that she doesn’t notice her companion, while doing his best (really he is), is clearly not anywhere near as gripped as she is.

She challenges him as they leave, both shielding their eyes from the warm sun, asks him why he didn’t suggest something that he’d enjoy more. He baulks and tries to convince her but she’s having none of it, and eventually he grins and shrugs, admits he wanted to do something he thought she’d love, and more to the point, be impressed by, given how long it had taken him to _unpin_ their date.

“So,” she says, her hands fluttering between them, “we’ve done something that I love. Let’s go do something that you love. _Not_ basketball,” she adds hastily. “I don’t need to have my ass whipped on a court, thank you very much.”

“You don’t have any game?” he teases.

“I have … a couple of shots that your Comeback Kid may have taught me back in high school. I can generally be relied upon to pull them out on a court if I am completely unchallenged by any defender. But that’s not how the game is supposed to be played, is it? So … do I have _game_? No, I absolute do not.”

“Can you ride a bike?”

“Sure.”  
“Booty …”  
“I beg your pardon?”

“Booty loop. It’s great for cycling.”  
“Is it far?” she asks with a small frown, thinking about how long it is since she did, actually, ride a bike.

“Three miles? I have an extra bike if that was going to be your next question.”

“No problem,” she grins. “So … let’s go … booty loop!”

It’s fun and no, not difficult, and she knows she’ll come back here. She can see teaching Jules to ride a bike here. It’s beautiful and busy and full of energy.

They have a coffee later on and, overall, she thinks it’s been a great day. Promising.

They chat for a few more minutes at her car, a boring rental again, and eventually she turns to open the door, only to find her wrist encircled by his hand. He pulls her back, gently, and searches her gaze before he leans in and kisses her.

They both sigh as they pull apart, a sigh with exactly the same feeling.

“I … it’s …” he says quietly.

“Not there,” she supplied with a weak smile. “Is it?”

“It … really isn’t,” he admits with a weak grin. _“Damn.”_

“Damn?” she repeats. “That’s … vehement.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I … maybe I’m a romantic fool, but I … you’re incredible and at the beginning this had such …”

“Momentum?” she suggests.

“Exactly! _Momentum_. I really believe the right people come into your life at the right time … and …”

“Bobby, I think that’s …”  
“Wishful thinking?”

“No,” she says decisively, thinking of Julian. “I think that too … right people, right time.”  
“You do?”  
“My daughter’s kind of living proof of that.”  
“So … maybe this happened for other reasons?” he muses.

“Maybe it did,” she says quietly. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see?”


	8. “Remember how we used to pile onto your bed in our PJs?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke doesn’t talk. She cries. She presents a pile of DVDs and a cupboard full of junk food, still in grocery store bags with a recent cash register receipt unfurling on the top. Then she cries. Later, she shows Peyton a fridge full of individual serves of soup from an upscale deli and a few bottles of equally upscale wine. Then she cries.

She’d hated the very idea of working on Thanksgiving, particularly as that meant being on the other side of the country to her daughter. Last year she and Jules had spent Thanksgiving with her Dad, and she knew it was only fair that Julian’s family had their turn. In LA. And that would be fine, except that the Bobcats were playing on Thanksgiving Day, and the next round of sketches were scheduled. There really was no way around it.

Nathan had made a throwaway comment about it sucking that they both had to work for the holiday, and she’d questioned him. Her recollection was that he’d always much preferred Christmas to Thanksgiving. He’d nodded that she was right, but added that maybe that’s because back then, rightly or wrongly, he felt like he hadn’t had much to be thankful for, so the guaranteed gifts that came with Christmas seemed more fun. She’d hit him and grumbled that if he’d been little more thankful when he had her …

“Maybe that’s why Thanksgiving feels better now,” he’d shrugged. “It’s … I like having you guys around.”

“Aww shucks,” she’d chuckled. “Does that mean I don’t have to get you a gift at Christmas?”  
“Hell, no! And apparently you take pride in giving me gifts that are still part of my life a decade later, so you’ve set the bar high, Sawyer. I have expectations.”

She’d told him she wasn’t particularly looking forward to being away from Jules for the holiday, and he’d suggested they have dinner with her Dad, his Mom, Coop, Bron and the kids after the game, which was thankfully scheduled for the afternoon rather than the evening, and that they both fly to LA the next day and have another Thanksgiving with Jules.

“Any excuse for another flash dinner?” she’d teased him. But she loved the idea.

So, they got back to LA on the Thursday night, spent all day Friday having a blast preparing a feast, with Jules cheerfully bossing them about, at Peyton’s place. The three of them each chose their two favorite dishes, and that’s what they prepared and ate; a hodge podge of things that bore very little resemblance to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner but was delicious, nevertheless.

Jules is now running about in her cute little pyjamas, Nathan’s finishing up the last few dishes and Peyton’s perched on a bar stool, sorting through her photos and sketches from the Thanksgiving game, pulling out the best ones to be worked up into print ready proofs.

She passes a great shot of Nathan to him and rolls her eyes when he makes the usual self-congratulatory remark about his form and looks.

“Admit it Sawyer,” he challenges her, “you love it. You wouldn’t have given it to me to look at if you didn’t like my wit and humour.”

“More like I know I can count on you to make me laugh at how deluded you are,” she’s laughing when she answers her phone, noting the unknown caller message.

“Hello?”

“Peyton?”

“Yes, this is Peyton. Wait … is …?” she stops. She _knows_ that voice. That _raspy_ voice. “ _Brooke?”_ she asks incredulously.

“Yeah, it’s me, P. Sawyer. You are still P. Sawyer, right?” Brooke giggles nervously.

“Absolutely. My God, Brooke, it’s been …”  
“I know,” Brooke inserts quietly, sheepishly. “A really long time. I’m so glad you still have this number.”  
“Meh, I’m easy to find even without it,” Peyton says casually, tidying her piles of photo proofs while she’s talking.  
“I’m sorry …”  
“Oh, Brooke, that wasn’t a dig,” she assures her. “ _I’m_ sorry … hey! Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoying your favourite holiday?”  
“Um …. yeah …”  
“And that’s a B. Davis lie if I ever heard one,” Peyton chides. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Are you enjoying Thanksgiving, your favourite holiday, Brooke Davis?”

“Um … not so much?” comes the quiet reply.

“Okay. Vague but at least not a lie,” Peyton says, then is mortified when she hears her old friend burst into tears at the end of the line.

“Brooke. Oh my God, _Brooke,”_ she repeats, looking helplessly at Nathan. “What’s going on?”

“Um … I … it’s a long …”

“I have time,” Peyton cuts in, nodding her appreciation as Nathan tucks the tea towel over the rail on the oven door and, gesturing that he’s going to go keep Juliet occupied for a bit, leaves her to it.

“Remember how we used to pile onto your bed in our PJs?” Brooke asks with a hiccup and a nostalgic tone. “With bags of junk food? And we’d fight over movies ‘cos I wanted chick flicks and you wanted the weirdo artsy crap?”

“And you’d always win?” Peyton teases gently.  
“Yeah,” Brooke sighs. “Not … not winning so much right now, P. Sawyer.”

“What do you need, honey?”

“I have no right to even … I lost touch … I didn’t return …”  
“Brooke,” Peyton admonishes ever so gently. “It doesn’t _matter_. What do you need?”  
“I don’t think I even know …” she replies, bursting into more tears.

“You need me to bring PJs and junk food and chick flicks?”

“To New York? I can’t ask …”  
“You’re not asking; I’m offering.”  
“I’m in New York!”  
“Well, honey there’s these wonderful inventions. You may have heard of them. Called airplanes?”

“Peyton …”

“Text me your details, Brooke. I’ll get there as soon as I can. It won’t be today, obviously. And with holiday travels it may not even be tomorrow, but I’ll let you know once I’ve got it sorted, okay?”

“Really?”  
“Really.”

  
  


She makes it into New York Sunday afternoon, having seen Juliet and Nathan onto a flight a little before her own departed for the Big Apple. Larry is to meet his granddaughter and her travel companion at the airport in Charlotte, deliver Nathan home and spend a few days with Juliet while Peyton deals with Brooke and who knows what.

A driver collects Peyton at airport, her name on a card held in front of him. And even though this is something she has never experienced and it’s a little Hollywood, a tiny bit thrilling, she’s also a little disappointed. She thought Brooke would be there to meet her and the steady building of excitement during the last few days has been a torment. Maybe their friendship really is a relic of the past? Maybe Brooke getting in touch was a spur of the moment thing, borne out of a momentary lapse, and maybe another of her likely plethora of friends, admirers, hangers on has stepped into the void.

New York flashes by as Peyton watches out the window, lost in her doubtful thoughts to the extent that she’s surprised when the driver heads down a steep ramp into a subterranean parking building, He stops in front of a bank of elevators, leaves the car to open the door for her, then gently and efficiently bundles her and her two bags into a lift, swipes a security card then presses the discreet P on the bank of buttons. The penthouse. Of course, it is. Could she be any more out of her usual environment?

The doors open into a private lobby, which she walks through to find herself in a large and airy room, beautifully and expensively furnished, yet not intimidating. Somehow, it’s homey too. She finds herself dropping her bags where she stands, then crossing the room to stand in front of massive picture windows. The view across the city is phenomenal. Her fingers twitch. The urge to keep painting is strengthening.

She has no idea how long she stands there; quite long, she thinks, too absorbed in the view to wonder where Brooke is, or when she might turn up. Eventually, she hears some gentle, shuffling footsteps and turns.

Brooke’s pale and too thin, looks so young and yet too old at the same time. Her hair’s in a careless ponytail and she’s wearing baggy pink pyjamas and not a shred of makeup. She could pass for fifteen. Except for the world weary, tired eyes and the shadows under them.

“P?”

She sounds confused. Bewildered. Lost, in fact.

“The very one,” Peyton shrugs. “I …”  
“I’ve lost a day,” Brooke mumbles. “I’m so sorry. Oh my God, I call you out of the blue and you’re so kind to come and I … I lost a day. Thank God I booked the car before …”

Her eyes well and her fingertips pick restlessly at the fabric of her pyjamas and, in the blink of an eye, Peyton is enfolding her into a tight hug and shushing her and telling her it doesn’t matter and to let it out. To just let it all out.

Brooke doesn’t talk. She cries. She presents a pile of DVDs and a cupboard full of junk food, still in grocery store bags with a recent cash register receipt unfurling on the top. Then she cries. Later, she shows Peyton a fridge full of individual serves of soup from an upscale deli and a few bottles of equally upscale wine. Then she cries.

As they’re winding up the evening, a puffy eyed Brooke shows Peyton to a beautifully appointed guest room, but still hasn’t revealed much (or anything, really) about why she’s in such a state, though she has hinted that it’s to do with her company.

Peyton’s unsurprised to find that her friend has created a schedule for the next few days. Entitled _Brooke and Peyton’s Excellent Reunion_ it involves lunches, spas treatments, shopping, dinners, cocktails and yes; PJs, junk food and chick flicks every night.

“Oh my God, Brooke, I’m going to be forty pounds heavier by the time you’re done with me.”  
Brooke screws up her nose adorably, takes a purple inked pen and quickly writes WALK in capitals at the beginning of each day.

“Great,” Peyton remarks. “Just thirty pounds then?”

“Just be grateful there’s only three hours shopping per day,” Brooke advises snappily, showing a little glimpse of her old, perky self.

She talks, a little, the next morning as they walk for miles in Central Park. The story of Victoria Davis – referred to only as _mother_ by Brooke, not even my mother - wedging her way into Clothes over Bros, spinning a web of apparent motherly concern that all turned out to be nothing but avarice and a power grab.

Peyton is, somehow, also not at all surprised to discover that the reason for Brooke’s current state is actually all about Brooke’s mother, because wasn’t it always about Bitch-toria? A few Machiavellian moves and Brooke’s own mother has managed to eject Brooke out of the company the young superstar designer built from scratch, starting in the living room of a little apartment and with a cute little website built by Marvin AKA Mouth McFadden.

Brooke’s out on her ear, with, she says, nothing to show for all her hard work, her sacrifice, her blood, sweat and tears, other than a big fat bank account, the result of a ‘shut up and go away’ payment to avoid a lawsuit. Because a lawsuit would be _bad for the brand_ , her mother says.

They spend the afternoon listlessly window shopping; Brooke is recognized and approached several times – by sales staff in upmarket boutiques, by personal shoppers in department stores, by random beautiful people, both male and female. She’s always sweet and charming and funny. No one but her old high school friend seems to see that it’s a veneer, and a thin one at that.

Peyton, noting that the morning walk was the only time when the guard slipped at all, drags her brunette buddy out again the next morning and they walk further. It works. The guard comes down a little more. Brooke even manages to spit out her mother’s first name a couple of times.

That afternoon, Brooke’s gaze sweeps over Peyton, from top to toe and back to top again, dwelling on her hair for a long time, then she literally jumps up from the couch and grabs her bag, instructing her friend to get her shoes on.

“What? Why? I thought we were going to have a slow afternoon?” Peyton protests.

“Nope,” Brooke says, in full bustle mode. “I have plans for you.”  
“Plans?” Peyton asks nervously, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. “I’m not letting you touch my hair.”  
“Why would I touch your hair?” Brooke asks, scrunching her nose. “It’s freaking gorgeous! I love that coppery blondey red on you.”

“Then what are we …?”  
“Just … do as you’re told, P. Sawyer.”  
“Well,” Peyton chuckles, “I wondered where my old friend was. There you are, Miss Bossy.”

Half an hour later, they’re in a small warehouse and Brooke is literally shoving Peyton into a changing room and telling her to strip.

“Kinky,” Peyton drawls.

“That’s what she said,” Brooke fires back with a toss of her hair. “My city, my rules, Peyton. I’m about to completely overhaul your wardrobe.”  
“What’s wrong with my wardrobe?” Peyton protests, almost petulantly. Geeze, she knows her style is still on the casual side, but LA just _is casual._ She gets compliments all the time, and Pippa is no slouch when it comes to fashion either, so it’s not like she hasn’t had input.  
“Nothing whatsoever,” Brooke says firmly. “In fact, you’re surprisingly styley these days.”  
“Thanks. I think.”  
“But I’m about to take you stratospheric.”

She holds out two hangers, one in each hand, and jiggles them from side to side. Peyton’s mouth, quite literally, drops open.

“Oh my God, they’re gorgeous!” she gasps, reaching out to gently touch the fabric of one.

“My final Clothes over Bros collection,” Brooke shrugs in an attempt to be nonchalant, but that ‘final’ clearly stings. A lot.

“I … this is all yours?” Peyton asks, looking around the many racks.

“Uh-huh … well,” Brooke amends, her nose crinkling as she looks around, “I designed it. And I have access to it. For now. So that means … _you_ have access to it and trust me, you should definitely not look this gift horse … gift _clothes_ horse … in the mouth, P. Sawyer, because you’re not going to want anything from next season’s Clothes Over Bros range. Not if Victoria has anything to do with it. It’ll be dreadful. And by the way, this is a gift from me to you. Don’t even think about arguing with me.”

“Ma’am! Yes, Ma’am!” Peyton chuckles, snapping her heels and flapping her hand about in an intentionally messy salute.

Brooke passes piece after piece to Peyton; beautifully tailored trousers, flowing silky tops, smart almost corporate dresses and jackets with a funky flair. She’s not normally a ‘shopper’, Peyton, nor a clothes horse, but when all she has to do is step in and out of beautiful outfit after beautiful outfit, then stand there and admire beautiful outfit after beautiful outfit while Brooke flits about mixing and matching and stopping and looking and thinking and rushing off for yet another beautiful outfit … well, she’ll do it.

Other than a couple of quick check ins from a couple of clearly sorrowful attendants (who must be aware of Brooke having been shouldered out of the way by her bitch of a mother) solicitously asking if Brooke needs any help, they’re left to it for a good couple of hours.

Eventually, Brooke summons her driver back but, as he’s about to open the door for his employer, Peyton bundles her dozen or more bags into his arms, links her fingers with Brooke’s and begins to pull the brunette away.

“What are you ...?”  
“We’re walking home,” Peyton instructs.

“We are?”

“Yep.”  
“Why would we do that?” Brooke asks, looking more than a little aghast.  
“You’re ready,” the taller woman says in a soothing tone.

“To what? Ruin my Jimmy Choos?”

“To tell me the rest.”

“I’ve already told you,” Brooke pouts. “My bitch of a mother stole my company out from under me.”  
“Nope,” Peyton contradicts. “There’s more. And you’re going to tell me. Because you’re ready now.”

“I …”

“Brooke,” Peyton interrupts, and she can hear the almost motherly tone in her own voice.

“There’s more,” Brooke concedes quietly, hiding behind a curtain of glossy, brunette hair.

There _is_ more.

Controlling not just Brooke’s work life but also her personal life. Fake dates that looked great for the press but were staged and awkward and never with anyone that Brooke felt any warmth for, or vice versa. Vetoes on vacation plans. Pushing Rachel out of the business.

Brooke pushed back initially, vehemently and often. But just … got whittled away at. After Rachel she tried one more time to summon up her strength and go after her own happiness. Someone else from Tree Hill had turned up out of the blue. A certain Clean Teen boy. Victoria had ‘allowed’ it for a while. Perhaps she accepted it because it served a ‘higher’ purpose; Brooke’s creativity had hit an all-time high during the few months that she was seeing Chase, the results of which were back in that warehouse they’d been in. Her best collection ever.

But as soon as it the season was locked in, the design final, the orders placed, the manufacturing runs underway, Victoria sent Chase packing and Brooke’s resolve and strength had disappeared with her heart.  
By the time they get back to Brooke’s amazing home base, though, their shoes swinging from their fingers and the soles of their bare feet filthy, they’re laughing their heads off. Peyton has always done a dead-ringer impression of Bitchtoria; she pulls it out now and she plays it to the max.

“C’mon, B. Davis,” she cajoles kindly, “it’s laugh or cry, right? Just for now, choose to laugh.”

Thursday is champagne brunch day according to the B. Davis schedule. At some point during the morning, the switch suddenly flicks, and Brooke’s entire demeanour lightens, her laugh bubbles over and her patented hair flick returns, and her eyes brighten.

“Hey!” she exclaims, suddenly, “tell me about your gallery!”

“My ... gallery?” Peyton asks, thrown by the way Brooke has turned her attention to Peyton’s life without warning.

“Yes … Baker Sawyer Gallery, right?”  
“I … how do you know about …?”  
“I googled you,” Brooke shrugs.

“You _googled_ me?”

“Yes. And it’s pathetic that I had to! But I promise you that I’ll never let us go again, Peyton. I’m so sorry … I …” she stops, a little tearful again, but it’s a different sort of tears this time.

“So … how about we do the bygones thing?” Peyton suggests.

“I … yeah … so … Baker Sawyer Gallery. You and … I saw on your website … um … Pippa Baker? That’s the name, right?”

“Yes,” Peyton nods, deciding instantly not to go into the _other_ Baker right now. These few days are not about her; they’re about Brooke. Even if she’s perking up. “Pippa. We opened the gallery together, and it’s going great. Now top up my glass!”

They’re onto their third glass now and getting giggly, when Peyton’s phone buzzes and she sees it’s Nathan.

“You’re in touch with Hotshot?” Brooke asks her, surprise etched on her face. “How did I not know that?”

“’Cos we’ve spent the last few days focused on you?” Peyton quips with a raised eyebrow as she reaches for her phone.

“Well!” Brooke humphs dramatically but teasingly. “It’s not like I haven’t made it worth your while. Case in point,” she adds as she waves the expensive, and empty, French champagne bottle at Peyton.

“Nate! Hey, you,” Peyton greets him, rolling her eyes at Brooke.

“Nathan?” she asks again when her greeting is met with silence.

“Do you think he butt-phoned you?” Brooke giggles.

“What?”

“Sat on his phone and doesn’t realise he’s made a call? Nathan Scott’s ass always was quite talented …”

“Nathan? Are you there?”

“Peyt …” she eventually hears from him, her name virtually whispered. He hasn’t deliberately shortened it, she can tell, though he’s really the only person that can do so without getting her back up; it’s just that his voice has run out before he finishes it.

She frowns, struggling to hear, and holds her hand up to Brooke to quieten her down.

“Nate? What is it? Where are you?”

“Tree …” he gulps out before he falls silent again.

“Tree Hill? Nathan, talk to me.”

“Peyton …”

“Hey, hon, c’mon, you’re scaring me,” she says, concern lacing her voice. “Breathe in and then tell me where you are.”

“The hospital,” he manages to get out, making her gulp and her heart thump.

“Are you okay?” she asks, fear building rapidly.

“Yeah …”

“Then who is it?” she asks, though she thinks, really, that she knows.

“Whitey. He’s … he’s _gone_ , Peyt.”

“Oh Nathan,” she sighs. “Nate, I’m so sorry. Is anyone with you?”

“No. Can … can you come?”

There’s no question. He needs her. She’s going.

“Of course. Hang on a sec,” she instructs as she waves to get Brooke’s attention. “Brooke, can you get online? Get us on the first flight you can.”

“To where P. Sawyer?”

“To Nathan. To Tree Hill. Go … and start packing bags for us; just chuck all my stuff in however it comes. Nate? You need ...?”

“You. I … just you.”

She can hear Brooke on her own mobile in the background, pacing backwards and forwards across her lush carpet while she waves her arm impressively and snappily issues instructions.

“And I’ll get there as soon as I can,” Peyton tells Nathan. “But until then, you can’t just sit at the hospital. It might be tomorrow before we can get there. Nathan, we can’t drive; we’ve been drinking, I’m sorry ... so it’s going to depend on flights.”

“P?” Brooke calls from across the room. “Pick up in an hour.”

“You got flights?”

“No … just tell Nathan we’ll be there by midnight.”

“What? How?”

“Limo and driver. There are distinct advantages to being B. Davis, late of Clothes Over Bros, P. Sawyer, and this is one of them.”

Peyton smiles weakly at this version of Brooke Davis, with all of her CEO on display.

“I’ll go pack some bags,” Brooke says. “You keep talking to Nate. Pick up in an hour.”

“Nathan … we’ll be there by midnight tonight or so, and all going well. But you; you need to go home.”  
“No!” he says defensively. “I … I can’t just leave him here alone.”

“I need to get someone to you to help you leave and go back to the beach house. Shall I call Deb?”

“No! Don’t hang up,” he pleads, sounding like a lost little boy.

“Okay. I’ll keep you on this line and call Deb from Brooke’s landline. Hang on a tick.”

She juggles the phones, manages to get hold of Deb, and quickly explains the situation to Nathan’s mother. Deb assures her she’ll leave Charlotte right away and be at the hospital in Tree Hill as soon as she can, and to leave it with her; she’ll hold the fort until Peyton gets there, and get Nathan away from the hospital and back to the beach house.

Within an hour they are, indeed, being assisted into a limo by a courteous but warm driver, not one that Peyton has seen up until now. He’s clearly familiar with and to Brooke; he greets the brunette with a warm and friendly smile and an almost cheeky tip of his hat, then stows their bags in the trunk and wastes no time in directing the car out of the city to commence their nine-hour drive.

Hours later … well, even limos need to refuel, and, while the driver takes care of the gas, Brooke races around the gas station store, grabbing her favourite junk food, having told Peyton that now is most definitely not the time to be obsessing about maintaining a dress size.

“And like the last few days have been?” Peyton laughs at her. “I think you’ve got a problem, Davis, and it comes in a crinkly packet.”

“We didn’t get to eat the magnificent brunch I planned,” Brooke justifies. “Pancakes, syrup, oodles of berries and stuff versus crunchy carbs and God knows what preservatives in a crinkly packet. Still, let’s face it; the calorie content’s probably dead equal.”

“Dad, hi,” Peyton answers her phone with a greeting to her father, as Brooke rummages through what seems to be half a store’s worth of said crinkly packets. “Yeah. Is that okay? I’ll let you know as soon as I know when the service is … Great … Yeah, he sounds kind of a mess … Okay. Thank you, Dad.”

“Papa Sawyer?” Brooke asks unnecessarily, handing Peyton a couple packets.

“Yeah, I texted him earlier,” Peyton says, somewhat distracted. “He’ll come into Tree Hill with Jules.”  
“Jules? Girlfriend?” Brooke asks, her eyes wide. Larry Sawyer with - actually, with anyone that wasn’t Anna - was kind of a non-compute.

Peyton looks at her friend, taking a deep breath, her mind flying back to the very similar remark Nathan had made on hearing about Jules for the first time.

“Brooke, I … there’s something kind of big I haven’t told you,” she begins.

“Well, like you said, it’s kind of been _all about me_ the last few days, P. Sawyer. I can hardly hold it against you; I’ve barely let you get a word in all week.”

“No! Well … okay, yeah, that’s so true!” Peyton laughs, digging her elbow into Brooke’s side.

“Seriously, Peyton, you’ve been amazing to me this week. And after not being in touch for so long, I didn’t deserve it. So …”  
“So I’m totally off the hook for not telling you about this big thing, even if it happened a few years ago?”  
“What? Now I’m gagging to know. Did your Dad get remarried or something?”

“Um, no. I … do you remember when we were little, how we talked about what life would be like when we grew up, got married, had babies?”  
“Of course. Wait … _you_ got hitched? I’m not sure if I can forgive you for denying me Maid of Honour duties. Oooh! Or making your dress! Oh My God … the dress I could have …”

“No,” Peyton interrupts, laughing. “I didn’t get hitched, but I did …”

“You got pregnant,” Brooke inserts in a hushed voice. “What happened? Did you …?”  
“Yes. And yes, I had her. Jules isn’t my Dad’s wife or girlfriend or partner or … anything other than his granddaughter.”  
“Jules?”  
“Juliet. Kind of after her Dad, Julian.”

“Okay.”  
“Okay?”  
“Start talking, P. Sawyer. And you can start with whether it’s too late to make me a Godmother. And if it is, who do I need to take out to inherit the role?”

And over the next hour or so, Brooke Davis gets well and truly caught up on the last few years of Peyton Sawyer’s life, from Julian to Juliet, from leaving the music business behind through post grad degree and on to flourishing gallery.

“You rebuilt yourself,” Brooke observes after a thoughtful few minutes, once Peyton has her up to date.

“Yeah, I guess.”  
“I think maybe there’s a reason why I felt such an intense need to call you.”  
“Other than you were having a crappy time and you needed your best friend?” Peyton says, with a gentle smile in acknowledgement of Brooke’s recent difficulties.  
“I wasn’t sure I could call you that after all that time.”  
“Always.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”

“Good,” Brooke smiles, reaching out to squeeze Peyton’s hand. “But … I think the universe just knew I needed someone that’s been there, having to rebuild like I need to do, as well as someone that knows me. You know?”

“I know. And … you know what else? I was there at the inception of Clothes Over Bros, Brookie. It’s kind of fitting I’m there at the end.”

“Oh my God, those first designs!” Brooke exclaims.

“You still have them?”  
“Hell, yes. I’m _such_ a hoarder! I keep all my designs, whether they go into production or not.”  
“So … you’ve got the beginnings of your next venture, then?” Peyton suggests.

“Hmmm,” Brooke says thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’m … not sure I want to though. Maybe it’s time to do something …”  
“New?”  
“New. Yeah.”

“Well, the beauty of that big, fat COB golden handshake is that you can take your time and dream a little.”

“Speaking of dreams …” Brooke says, covering her mouth with her perfectly manicured hand as she’s overtaken by a massive yawn.  
“Nap?”  
“Nap.”  
  



	9. “Coach Durham was my first basketball coach who knew that the game was about more than a court, a ball."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He taught me about honesty and integrity. He taught me about friendship and honour. He taught me about sacrifice and truth and pride. He taught me about leadership, and he taught me not just how to lead, but when to lead and when to follow. Most of all, even though he was a crusty old grump at times, he taught me about love; love for the game, love for the team and even love for the perfect girl. To me, he was a coach, a friend, a mentor, a parent. Right now, I miss him more than I know what to do with. But I know I will live a better, truer life because of him.”

They both manage to sleep a little in the spacious limo, so when they eventually get to the beach house, they’re not feeling too worse for wear, despite starting the day with a bottle of bubbly and spending the rest of it in transit.

Brooke’s more than a little unsettled about being back in Tree Hill for the first time in years. Peyton is more than a little anxious about what sort of state she’s going to find Nathan in. But when Deb Scott opens the front door and races down the stairs to sweep them up in her arms, both young women feel a little of the stress ease. Deb Scott may not have been mother of the year when they were growing up but everything that she’s been through has made her into a warm, loving, empathetic woman. Her embrace is more than welcome for two young women who, for differing reasons, didn’t have the support of a loving, supportive mother of their own.

“Come on in, girls, you must be exhausted. I’ll make you some tea then I’ll head off,” Deb offers. “I can’t be bothered opening up the house, so I’ve got a nice room at the inn and I am looking forward to taking off my Mom hat – and these shoes - and sleeping for hours.”

“How is he, Deb?” is the first thing out of Peyton’s mouth, her eyes wide and showing every little bit of her deep concern.

“I ... don’t know,” Deb admits, though she gives Peyton a somewhat thoughtful look. “He won’t really say anything coherent except that he needs you, sweetie.”

“I’ll head straight up,” Peyton says determinedly. “He’s in his old room?”

“The master; that’s his room now,” Deb replies, before taking Peyton’s hand between her own for a moment. “Peyton, honey … I realized before; he’s never lost anyone … not a death … well ... Keith, I guess … but they were only just starting to get close. He’s never had to cope with intense grief like this. I don’t …”

“Deb, it’s okay,” she says, resting her hand over Nathan’s mother’s. “I’ve got this. I’ve got him. If there’s anything I know how to deal with it’s this, right?”

She hesitates in the doorway for a moment; Nathan is standing at the picture window, looking out, his eyes lost, distant and unfocussed, his profile somber. She takes a breath and knocks her knuckles gently on the doorframe.

“Hey you,” she says gently, tentatively even.

He doesn’t turn but closes his eyes at sound of her voice, shaking his head in helplessness. Peyton crosses the room wordlessly and steps into his arms, which lift automatically and crush her into him.

“I’m sorry I fell apart,” he begins before she hushes him.

“Ssh,” she says, her hands rubbing circles on his lower back. “I’ve got you Nathan. I’ve got you.”

His legs give out and he slides down the wall, taking her with him, coming to a halt in a grief-stricken huddle.

“I ...” he croaks out before he instantly runs out of steam.

“Ssh,” she soothes again, her palms moving to rest at his cheeks, her thumbs stroking gently. “Don’t try to talk, hon. Just let me hold you.”

Brooke finds them like that, when she brings steaming mugs of sweetened tea, which she places on floor near them. She kisses Nathan’s head and grips his shoulder, asking Peyton silently with gestures if she should stay.

“Thanks Brooke,” she answers quietly. “Why don’t you head to bed? We need you to be clear headed tomorrow morning.”

“You sure?”

Peyton merely nods and turns her full attention back to the devastated man in her arms. It’s a long, long time before he speaks.

“Saturday afternoon,” he eventually mumbles, his voice still croaky.

“What is?”

“The … funeral,” he says, finally lifting his head to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with grief and sorrow.

“That’s fast,” she observes quietly.

“He already had it booked – down to the day. Can you believe that?”

“You know what? I really can,” she nods, entwining their fingers. “And I bet it’s a significant date too.”

“Wedding anniversary.”  
Peyton raises eyebrow in question. How did he know that? Somehow, he knows what she’s about to ask.

“He left me a letter …” he supplies in explanation.

“Nathan, he had no family,” she states softly. “Did … did he ask you to manage the funeral?”

He nods, gulps. “I just ... I don’t know how …”

“Give me the letter. Brooke and I will do this with you,” she calms him.

“But she’s …”

“She’s okay,” she assures him. “She’s much better and this will help her heal too. It’ll let her shed a few more tears ... speaking of which ... haven’t seen any tears from you yet, tough guy.”

He smiles wryly, shaking his head.

“When you’re ready, you will,” she tells him, kissing his cheek, “… and I’ll be there.”

She gets him to lay down after another long while, and lays with him, spooning into his back, hugging him from behind, wrapping her slender arms around him and clasping her hands at his hips. His hand rests over hers and, eventually, he falls into a ragged, disturbed sleep.

When they meet with the funeral director the next morning, Peyton is surprised to find she recognizes the woman. Glenda Farrell is immaculate; professional, knowledgeable, warm and kind. She takes the part of Whitey’s letter that lists his wishes for the funeral and nods her way through them. His wishes are simple, a church service, no graveside attendance. He wants six members of the 2007 State Championship Ravens team to act as pallbearers. He wants Nathan Scott to give the eulogy.

Nathan struggles with that; he spends the rest of Friday morning and the entire afternoon at his laptop, typing, deleting, typing, deleting, muttering that he’s not the writer in the family. Eventually he drags his hand through his short hair and hits print. When he asks Peyton to read his speech, she does so willingly. And she cries. He doesn’t. He hasn’t. Not yet. He can’t. Or won’t.

He _can_ ask her to sleep next to him again, telling her he can’t be alone just yet. His vulnerability has her tearing up again, and this time it’s him spooning her, his arms around her, his hands at her stomach, her hands over his, his chin tucked over her shoulder, his breath gentle next to her cheek..

Peyton’s nearly ready for the funeral, just applying one last lick of mascara, when Brooke appears in the doorway of her room.

“Brooke,” Peyton smiles. “Oh my God, you look beautiful. That shirt is … raven blue. Dammit! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“’Cos your head’s been full of looking after our Superstar. But …” Brooke pulls another blue top from behind her back. It’s a different style, a little edgy, but still elegant. Very P. Sawyer. She couldn’t have chosen better herself.

“It’s …”

“So you?” Brooke says confidently.  
“ _So_ me! How did you ...?”

“Well … I may have lost the empire, bestest friend, but I can still pull some strings, even outside of New York warehouses. I sent our lovely driver to Charlotte yesterday to collect them from my store there, well, what used to be my store.”

“That poor man must be exhausted,” Peyton muses sympathetically.

“That poor man also has a Momma, two sisters and a brother in Charlotte, who he hadn’t seen for six months,” Brooke informs her. “He had a very nice lunch and afternoon with them care of my Clothes over Bros expense account, which doesn’t close off until the end of the month.”

“B. Davis, you’re just a pussycat, really, aren’t you?”

“Sssh. Don’t tell a soul,” Brooke replies, but the praise from her friend has her standing visibly taller. “Now, get that dreary black shirt off, it’s doing nothing for you. You’ll look divine in this. No reason why we can’t be sad _and_ totally beautiful, just like Jackie O.”

“Brooke … thank you,” Peyton says softly as she takes the shirt from her friend. “It’s a tough time for you, and you’ve been …”  
“Don’t be silly, Peyton. You were my rock last week; you’re Nathan’s rock now. I’m just helping where I can.”

Heading into town for the funeral service, Brooke drives, with Nathan sitting next to her and Peyton in the back.

“P. Sawyer,” Brooke asks, with a quick glance over her shoulder, “you going to be okay at the service?”

“Of course,” she replies, leaning forward to place her hand on Nathan’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “there are plenty of people who are feeling this loss more than me.”  
“Oh, P.,” Brooke sighs, “that’s not what I meant.”

Peyton’s puzzled, and Brooke feels compelled to explain further.

“Won’t this be the first time you’ve seen Lucas since … since the book signing? Oh, shoot!” she mutters, glancing towards Nathan as she realizes what she’s revealed. “I mean since the proposal-turned-nightmare?”

“It’s okay, Brooke. Nathan knows I was at the book signing.”

“He does?”

Nathan nods, and places his hand over Peyton’s which is still on his shoulder.  
“Wow,” continues the brunette driver, “you told someone else? Our select club of two becomes select club of three. But seriously P., it’s six years since you saw him. Aren’t you feeling a bit ...?”

“Brooke!” Peyton interrupts with a somewhat wry chuckle. “Honey, you are such an amazing friend to be concerned about me, and I am so glad you’re back in my life, even if the circumstances were crappy. But you really need to let the whole Lucas-Peyton-epic-romance thing go. I did, a long time ago. Hate to tell you, Davis, but there are other people that knew about the gasp, shock, horror book signing; it’s not some PTSD-inducing tragedy that still … anyway … there will be lots of people at the funeral that I haven’t seen for a long time, including Haley, and Skills, and Mouth. Honestly, Lucas is just one of many.”

“Well … I’ll believe it when I see it,” Brooke says skeptically. “And that will be very soon, ‘cos look; we’re here.”

They pull into the carpark, which is filling rapidly. Nathan steps out of the car and turns to open the back door for Peyton. As she gets out, he grabs her hand, toys with her slender fingers while he speaks.

“I didn’t think about this being hard for you, Sawyer. I’m sorry. I’ve really leant on you and didn’t stop to …”

She places her flattened hand over his mouth.

“Nate, c’mon! Not you too. I’ve told you more of the story than anyone. There is no lingering sentiment; today will only be hard for me for the same reason it’s hard for everyone else. We’re farewelling our Coach. And I have to watch my best guy in pain, and I don’t mean your brother, you numbskull.”

Nathan manages a weak smile, pulls her in for a hug and kisses her temple.

From across the carpark, Lucas sees her, leaning back against the car, his brother holding her hand, her hand flat on Nathan’s mouth, speaking intensely but gently. Six years on, and she is beyond beautiful, her hair is darker, coppery in parts, falling in waves rather than curls. A black skirt and heels that somehow manage to look both dignified and elegant but sexy as hell. Brooke appears around the front of the car, and he connects that Peyton and Brooke are wearing unusual, clearly designer, tops in the same blue as Haley’s, Haley hadn’t said anything, but he knows instantly that Brooke has been at work on the raven blue attire.

From afar, he watches his brother nod, pull Peyton in for a hug and kiss her temple. He watches her place her hands on his shoulders, look him in the eye and speak what he knows are the perfect words of strength and encouragement. And he watches Nathan grow a couple of inches in stature under Peyton’s hands, nod firmly, take one of her hands, turn and walk towards where Lucas stands, with Brooke right alongside them. Peyton stops when her phone rings, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from Nathan’s and stepping to the side, while Nathan and Brooke, who has strips of blue fabric in her hand, continue on towards him.

“Nathan,” Lucas greets him.

“Hey,” the brunette replies. They embrace, slightly awkwardly, not surprising given their recent distance and, until a brief phone conversation about the funeral date and time, lack of contact. Since their fraught conversation in LA, Nathan had most definitely let things slide. He didn’t feel bad about it at all. He knew, from a quick catch up with Skills some weeks ago, that Lucas had been out of town for a while, travelling and looking for inspiration apparently.

“I’m glad you could make it back in time,” Nathan continues. “I know you had to move things.”

“Of course. I couldn’t not be here.” He turns to Brooke. “Brooke. It’s been way too long.” They too hug.

“I know, Broody. Now … not to belittle your choice of tie, though it _is_ a shocker, but you need to put this on,” she says as she hands him a raven blue tie from the few she has in her hand.

“Why?” he asks, accustomed to his choice of tie being questioned, but not sure why this one isn’t okay. Haley chose it. He thought her choice would be fine.  
“Pall bearer. Whitey’s orders. State champ Ravens. You, Nate, Skills,” Brooke rattles off in full organizing mode. “I need three more. Seen anyone?”

“No. And how do you know what Coach wanted?”

“From Nate.”  
Lucas looks at his brother, silent but with his eyebrow raised in a questioning way.

“I saw him right before he died,” Nathan explains. “Well, I mean … I was with him when he went. He … um … he left me his wishes.”

“Wow. That’s … great,” Lucas says with a hint of surprise, and maybe a little pique. “That you can do that for him, I mean.”

While the blond Scott is speaking, Brooke steps forward, takes the tie back off him and ties it efficiently, patting it with the flat of her hand when she’s done.

“Where’s Hales, Luke?” she asks.

“Inside freaking out.”

“She’s okay though? Nathan asks. “With singing?”

“She’ll be fine,” Lucas shrugs. “Hey, Brooke, the blue’s a nice touch. You did good, Pretty Girl.”

“I’ll go check on Haley, see if I can find some more State champs to put a tie on,” Brooke says as she moves off to be replaced, momentarily, by Peyton.

“Everything okay?” Nathan asks her.

“Yeah. Dad’s on the way.”

She turns, smiles at Lucas and, when he looks uncertain and awkward, steps towards him, pulling him into a brief hug.

“Lucas, I’m sorry,” she says warmly. “I know today is a tough one for you, too.”

“Peyt.”

She winces a little at the abbreviation, but he doesn’t spot it.

“Thanks,” he continues. “It’s really good to see you, even under these circumstances. We should …”

“Sawyer,” Nathan interrupts, “we need to speak with the minister.”

“Sure.”

She touches Lucas’ shoulder briefly. “Lucas, there are seats at the front for the pallbearers. You should sit there. There’s one for Haley too, so she can sit with you before and after she sings. We’ll see you in there.”

Lucas is left watching them walk into the church together, pondering how involved Peyton seems to be and what that might signify, frowning a little at the easy way they – Nathan and Peyton - have together, and how … disturbingly _neutral_ she’d seemed to be during the far too brief hug she’d given him.  
  


A little later, after Nathan and Peyton have spoken to the minister and are standing back outside, silent but comfortable, for a little fresh air before they take their seats, Brooke approaches them.

“Okay Nathan,” she says efficiently, “we’ve got you, Lucas and Skills. We really need one more big strapping Raven.”

“Nate, it’s okay,” Peyton soothes him as he tenses, “I can get my Dad to step in.”

“But shouldn’t it be six?” he asks anxiously. It just can’t be that they have only three.

She shares a questioning look with Brooke, who nods at the wordless communication. Brooke takes over, turning to reassure Nathan.

“Yes. But it’s such short notice, and so many people won’t know or wouldn’t have been able to make it back this quickly. I mean, if P. hadn’t been with me when you called her, I’d never have known. So, Peyton and I will step in and take the centre places. We were there, we were part of that State Championship. And Whitey … he was a big part of our story too. Besides, you guys’d never have won that championship without our amazing cheers!”

“Okay, hon?” Peyton askes him, her hand brushing his forearm.

“Yeah. That’s ... kind of perfect,” he says with a small smile.

“So, Nathan, you’re at the front with Peyton behind you and Skills behind her. Lucas on the other side, then me, then …”

She pauses, her attention gripped by something beyond them, then continues.

“Then Jake.”

“Brooke?” asks Peyton.

“Jake Jagielski,” Brooke repeats, turning Peyton around to see the tall man who is striding up the path. He shakes Nathan’s hand warmly and pulls him into a hug that is warm and not at all awkward.

“Hey, Nathan. How are you doing?” Jake asks, one hand still on Nathan’s arm.

“A bit overcome,” Nathan admits.

“I heard you were with Coach when he went.”

Nathan can only nod. And wonder a little at how such news gets out so fast.

“It’s good you’re here, Jagielski.”

“Not least,” Brooke intervenes, passing the new arrival a tie, “because we need you to put this on and be a pallbearer at the end of the service.”

“Um, sure,” Jake replies looking between them with uncertainty. “But it’s a long time since I even saw Whitey.”

“Time doesn’t matter,” Peyton reassures Jake with a familiar hand on his arm and a firm nod. “He wanted the State champ team, and if you’d been here Senior year that would have included you. Besides, Whitey carried Jenny to safety once. Now you can help carry him.”

Nathan stares at her for a moment, comforted by her calm words, and the association she’s drawn, and reaches to squeeze her hand gratefully. Jake turns to haul Peyton against him, hugging for a long moment, his chin tucked into her shoulder.

“Peyton Sawyer,” he almost sighs as he pulls away. “It has been _way_ too long.”

She grins, takes his tie and does it for him quickly, patting his chest when she’s finished.

“How are you, Jake?” she asks. “And Jenny?”

“We’re good. We’re great. And you? And Jules? How are you both?”

“We’re great, too.”

As they all turn to walk into the chapel, Nathan asks Peyton quietly how much she’s been in touch with Jake over the years. He didn’t know she had been and doesn’t know why it matters, but somehow it does.

“Quite a bit after Julian died,” she says neutrally. “Jake really helped me with the whole single parent thing, just really good, practical tips and advice. Last couple of years? Not so much, though we Skype a bit. Jules loves talking to Jenny. It’s almost like they’re Skype cousins.”

“No romance?” he asks, aware that he is carefully controlling his tone but not really knowing why.

“No,” she smiles, shaking her head a little. “That ship sailed a long, long time ago. But he’s just the best guy. Well,” she says, with a small smile and wink to him, “maybe he’s the second-best guy.”

“Chicken!” 

She turns at the endearment that comes from behind them and sees her Dad walking up the path.

“Dad. Hi.”

They hug, and Larry then steps forward and, shocking the brunette Scott to the core, he pulls Nathan into a firm, fatherly embrace.

“You alright, son?”

Nathan almost loses it then and there. He really had no idea that’s what he needed, but it makes sense; he’s lost the man that felt like a father to him. He’d never have thought Larry Sawyer would be the one to recognize that and step into the breach, even in a small way. All he can do is nod wordlessly.

“Dad, where’s Jules?”  
“She was having so much fun with Jenny at Jake’s folks’ place. And she is a little young for a funeral, don’t you think? Jake’s folks are going to drop Jenny to Jake at the reception after the service, and they offered to bring Jules too. Is that okay? I left her booster seat there, so she’ll be safe in their car.”  
“Yeah, of course. That’s perfect, Dad.”

After the first part of the funeral service, the minister calls on Nathan to speak, but he doesn’t move. It’s as if he’s lost in another time and space. After a few beats, the minister asks again, gently but there is still no response.

Peyton stands from her seat to crouch in front of Nathan, placing her hands on either side of his face.

“Nathan,” she says firmly but sweetly. “You can do this. I know you can.”

He looks at her and the only word she can think of, as she looks into his deep blue pools of sadness, is _bereft._

“Your words are beautiful,” she tells him. “And you need to say them. For Whitey, but most of all for you. But you don’t need to be alone when you do it.”

She stands and hold out her hand, which he takes, blinking quickly. He stands and allows her to lead him to the lectern, where she tucks herself behind him and stands right against him, pressing her warmth into his back, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade, holding his hand with one of hers while her other wraps around his bicep and applies a gentle pressure.

The dam breaks and tears roll steadily down his face as he starts to speak, his deep voice shaky at first but gaining strength as he goes.

“Coach Durham was my first basketball coach who knew that the game was about more than a court, a ball, Xs and Os; he knew it was about heart. Whitey taught me that basketball, and that life, is about more than talent and ability, and even about more than hard work and effort.

When I was facing the biggest physical challenge of my life, it was Whitey that showed me the way forward. And when I faced the greatest moral challenges of my life, it was Whitey that guided me through.”

He starts to break down further, his voice catching in his throat, but swallows hard and continues.

“He taught me about honesty and integrity. He taught me about friendship and honour. He taught me about sacrifice and truth and pride. He taught me about leadership, and he taught me not just _how_ to lead, but when to lead and when to follow.

Most of all, even though he was a crusty old grump at times, he taught me about love; love for the game, love for the team and even love for the perfect girl.

To me, he was a coach, a friend, a mentor, a parent. Right now, I miss him more than I know what to do with. But I know I will live a better, truer life because of him.”

Nathan looks up from his notes and seeing the large crowd packed into the church seems to throw him off.

“Um … Whitey left a poem with me that he wanted to be read … but …”

His voice lets him down, as tears that he makes no effort to hide roll, and he turns helplessly to Peyton, who takes the poem and steps forward. She looks at the poem and smiles softly to herself. She leans forward a little and with soft Southern tones, speaks into the mic.

“This is a poem that I know was very dear to Coach Durham. It’s one that he gave to me when I was 17 and struggling with a fresh loss of my own. It has become very dear to me too and has provided some solace at some difficult times. I don’t think Whitey would mind if I told all of you here today, that he kept this poem in his desk drawer and that he read it _every day_ , before he left his office in the Tree Hill High gym that he shared with so many young men over the years, to return to the home he had shared with Camilla for what he always said was too short a time. It’s by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

_Do not stand at my grave and weep._

_I am not there; I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there; I did not die._ ”

The gathering after the service is somber at first, as they are. As people loosen up, catch sight of old friends and colleagues they likely haven’t seen in too long, maybe after a glass of wine or a beer, the tone begins to turn celebratory in honour of Whitey Durham. Witty stories are told at his expense, and Nathan finds himself telling a few himself, knowing that his old Coach had a pretty good line in self-deprecating humour and would be laughing if he could hear the stories. Maybe he can. Who knows?

He’s listening to Brooke tell a particularly amusing anecdote about Whitey catching her in a slightly compromising position and how she wheedled her way out of detention for disrespecting his gym, when he’s approached by his current coach.

“Bobby?” he says, shaking hands and finding comfort when his coach places his hand on his arm. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Nathan. Of course,” Bobby says, pulling him in for a half hug. “I had to pay my respects to the man that was so influential in forming my best player.”

“I really appreciate you being here.”  
Brooke’s hand rests briefly on his arm and she indicates that she’ll leave him to it, but he stops her, introduces her to Bobby and the three chat for a few minutes.

He’s observant, Nathan Scott. It’s part of what makes him such a great player; he sees the detail, the interplay, the energy flow, the nuances between players on the court. And right now, he’s seeing another kind of interplay; Brooke Davis is flirting with Bobby Irons. She’s grown and matured and she’s nowhere near as obvious as high school Brooke was, but he knows flirting when he sees it. And he’s seeing it now. He can’t find it in him to mind or to think it’s inappropriate. Brooke’s had a tough few months by all accounts and deserves a little fun. And besides, wasn’t Whitey the biggest romantic of them all, deep down? Nathan thinks the old guy would love for a romance to start at his funeral. He thanks Bobby again, throws Brooke a knowing wink and leaves them to it.

Sometime later, many have left the reception. Those that remain are the players, the colleagues, the parents that truly appreciate what the great Whitey Durham had done for their boys. Larry has just disappeared outside for a few minutes and come back in with an excited Jules. She’s trying hard to be a little somber, as she understands this is a sad occasion for the grownups around her, but she hasn’t seen her Mommy for almost a week, and she’s missed her, of course. And she’s missed Nathan too. When she sees them, standing together, talking to a pretty lady with brown hair the colour of her favourite milk chocolate, Jules wrestles her hand away from her Grandad’s and races to her Mom.

“Mommy!”

Peyton sweeps her up. “Hey, Munchkin. I missed you.”

“I missed you too!” Jules exclaims. “ _So_ much.”

“Where are my kisses then?”

Jules grins and smothers her mother’s face with perfect little kisses. She turns her head when she’s delivered a satisfactory number, hold her arms out to Nathan and, when he takes her and cuddles her, resting his forehead against hers, she smothers him in the same perfect kisses.

“I missed _you_ too, Nate.”

“Um,” he says with an exaggerated puzzled frown. “I thought we had a deal, Miss Juliet? You can call me Nate when I can call you …”  
“You can call me Jules,” she giggles.  
“Are you _sure_?” he teases. “This is a very serious matter, young lady.”

“Yeah. I can tell by how much I missed you that you’re worth it.”

They laugh quietly together, the three of them, while Brooke looks on, pleasantly shocked by their easy camaraderie. They’re like … a family. A perfect little family.

Jules asks Nathan to put her down, then turns to look at Brooke, who is instantly smitten by the mini Peyton face she now has a clear view of. Jules tugs on her mother’s hand.

“Mommy? Is this our best friend, B. Davis?”

“It _is_ , Pickle.”

Brooke feels her eyes fill with tears. No contact for years, not until a week ago, and this amazing kid knows about her anyway?

“P. Sawyer,” she breathes in her emotional, raspy voice. “Really?”

“Of course, B. Davis. I told you; always.”

“Oh, Juliet Sawyer Baker, you and I are going to get along so well,” Brooke beams, kneeling on the floor in front of the girl, with no regard for the designer skirt and ridiculously expensive shoes. “For a start, you need to tell me where you got that glorious frock, because it looks fabulous on you. And after that, you need to ask your Mommy if you can give me your address, so I can send you some special dresses that I am going to make just for you.”

Juliet beams, places her hand in Brooke’s and leans forward to place a kiss on her cheek.

“My Mommy calls that the br … bri … bribery school of parenting, B. Davis, but I’m totally cool with that.”

The three adults exchange looks, all hard pressed not to burst out laughing.

Just as they get themselves under control, a dark suited middle-aged man approaches Nathan, introducing himself as Whitey’s attorney. Peyton steps in, trying to send him away, saying it’s not the time, but Nathan assures her it’s okay, that Whitey told him his lawyer would find him at the funeral reception. He asks Brooke if she would mind taking Jules for a walk for a few minutes, and the two head off, hand in hand, nattering away in italics and exclamation points; instant buddies.

It transpires that Whitey has left instructions for his ranch to be sold and for proceeds to go to establish a fund that will provide a scholarship for one Tree Hill High School varsity basketball player to receive college funding each year. He has named Nathan as the administrator, which Nathan knew he was doing. He will have responsibility for investing the funds, with appropriate expert advice, to ensure the programme can run for as long as possible to assist as many players as possible. Whitey’s instructions are for the administrator to work with the Ravens’ coach to select the most deserving player each year, preferably one who would not otherwise be able to attend college. The conversation the two men had in Whitey’s hospital room revolved around giving others the shot that Nathan himself received when Whitey got him into Gilmore after they all thought his chance at college basketball was lost.

The lawyer advises that quite recently Whitey added someone to be joint administrator with Nathan. Nathan, half expecting it to be his brother, assures the lawyer he’ll work with whoever Whitey wanted. The man nods and smiles a little, and suggests he find this person and advise them of their responsibility and ask them to check in with Nathan soon. And that’s fine, of course.

“Perhaps you could point me towards them then, Mr Scott? Ms Sawyer? Peyton Sawyer?”

“That would be this one here,” Nathan chuckles, indicating to his right with his thumb.

“Well then,” the lawyer nods, as Peyton looks a little embarrassed at having tried to send the man away a few minutes ago, “I guess my work here is done. My details are with the documents and I’ll be in touch as soon as there’s something for you to do. Mr Scott. Ms Sawyer.”

They check the codicil on the document and note that Whitey made this change right after the weekend when they went to visit him after Peyton’s first week in Charlotte doing the Bobcats’ portrait sittings. They each, in their separate minds, smile at the thought of Whitey playing misguided matchmaker from beyond the grave.

That night, late, Peyton is heading towards a guest room when Nathan emerges from the master bedroom, takes her hand and leads her back to his room, where they lay, for the third night straight, this time facing each other.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, a world of emotion behind the two simple words.

“Hey! That’s what I’m here for. No thank you required. And I’ve done nothing really.”

He shakes his head, denying her modesty.

“You’re amazing,” he tells her sincerely. “Honestly, I couldn’t have done the last few days without you.”

“Sure, you could. But you didn’t have to.” She pauses then continues gently. “Nathan, you need to know … look, you need to be prepared. It doesn’t just stop; the pain, I mean. It won’t be over quickly.”

Realisation crosses his face and he reaches out to stroke his palm down her cheek.

“My God,” he utters, as he thinks of the losses she’s withstood. “How did … how did you do this? At 8? At 17? At …”

“… 22?”

“You … I had no idea … God … the _shit_ you’ve dealt with! This … _three times_. I never really got it. Peyton … you’re…”

“I’m just me,” she smiles at him, with a little shrug.

He leans over and kisses her temple.

“There is no ‘just’ about you, Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer.”

She smiles and kisses his cheek back. He raises his hand back to her face.

“So strong. So amazing. So full of grace.”

“Flatterer!” she quips, blushing, trying to fob off his compliments with humour.

He just gazes at her, spellbound it seems.

“You okay?” she asks, concerned at his silence.

“I …”

“Nate?”

“Peyton ... I … you’ve been the best friend I could possibly have had the last few days, and I really don’t know if this is some weird grief-fuelled thing or where this is coming from, but I _really_ want to kiss you right now.”

She searches his eyes, slides her fingers through his hair to the back of his neck and pulls him to her. She kisses him so softly he can barely feel it, then slowly, carefully, she places a multitude of tiny kisses over his face, his cheek bones, his eyelids, his forehead. All he can think of is that Jules did the same thing earlier in the day, and that they’re beyond perfect, these two girls, then, without even knowing it, he falls asleep as the kisses continue, falling gently like nourishing summer rain drops onto parched earth.


	10. “Is that what this is about? Broody’s being a jackass ‘cos he’s jealous?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Brooke,” he continues, “she’s not that girl anymore. She’s strong and determined and trust me, if she believes not handing over the use of her name is the right thing to do, she will not back down. Not to some hotshot Hollywood producer and certainly not to a small-town author with two or more years of writer’s block.”

He’s awake early the next morning, and heads downstairs, leaving Peyton to sleep. She looks as tired in her sleep as he feels, and he knows that’s at least partly because she’s been giving Brooke, then him, all of her energy. He peeks into one of the guest rooms on the way past and spots that Jules is still asleep. But there’s no sign of Brooke in the other guest room.

He sees the brunette sipping coffee out on the deck, looking freezing, so he takes out a couple of thick blankets, passes her one and pours himself a coffee when she gestures towards the still hot coffee press.

“So how were your few days with Peyton, before all of this?” he asks, referring back to earlier in the week.

“She was great,” Brooke says with a genuine smile. “She really helped. I mean … _so_ much. She just made the whole time about me.”

“But?” he asks, detecting a little hesitancy in her voice, if not in her enthusiastic words.

“She’s different, you know?” Brooke answers with a wistful tone. “The Peyton I knew, she’s …”

“She’s gone, Brooke,” he says with a sympathetic but not apologetic look. “That girl’s long gone.”

“Nathan, I _loved_ that girl,” Brooke says with real feeling. “She was my best friend; sarcastic, cynical, dark-humoured P. Sawyer.”

“ _Brooke_ ,” he chastises gently. “Just … get to know her again. You loved that girl, sure. We all did, ‘cos she was great. But I gotta tell you, she’s fucking _awesome_ now. You’ll really love her, too,” he says then raises a finger to make another point. “Maybe you’ll love her even more.”

“Like you do?” Brooke asks pointedly.  
“Sure. She’s _my_ best friend too. What’s not to love?”

“Not what I meant,” Brooke mutters into her mug, “but okay.”

He’s too tired to really take that comment in, let alone think about it.

They sit companionably, wrapped in their blankets, not talking much, until Peyton joins them after an or so hour, having set Jules up with a DVD to watch in the guest bedroom. The girl has a slight temperature, nothing to worry about, but she’s tired and flushed and tells Peyton she wants to stay in bed and ‘blob.’

“Hey guys.”

“Hey, P. I’m glad you slept a little later today. You were starting to look a bit ghostly.”

“Gee thanks, _friend!”_

Nathan stands and goes inside without a word to her, convincing Peyton that, after his _wanting to kiss her_ admission, that things are going to be awkward, but after only a few minutes he returns with a fresh coffee pot for all of them, and a mug and blanket for her. She looks up and smiles her thanks, and he shoots her a typical Nathan Scott wink.

Not awkward. Good.

“So,” says Brooke looking a bit uncertain, “yesterday, in a fit of nostalgia, I suggested Broody and Tutor Girl come over for lunch. Is that okay, Nathan? It’s just … I’m guessing you guys will head off tonight or tomorrow and it’s our last chance to …”

“It’s fine, Brooke,” he assures her. “But I meant to mention to you, you’re welcome to stay here for a while if you need some space, you know … after everything.”

“Really?” she asks, her eyes wide and a tentative, hopeful smile forming.

“Really.”

“I would love to!” she exclaims, somehow expressing both excitement and relief. “Nathan, you are a lifesaver!”

“I do my best, Davis.”

When Lucas and Haley arrive, shortly after midday, with bags of food for lunch, the three of them – Nathan and his house guests - are still on the deck in pyjamas. Haley peeks out the door, eyebrow raised and laughing at them.

“Lunch is here! And why did no one mention it was a PJ party?”

The trio moves inside, standing around the counter chatting while Lucas and Haley unpack food onto plates and Peyton starts a fresh pot of coffee.

“So, Broody, how goes this movie project I’m hearing about?” Brooke asks, pulling out a bar stool and situating herself on it.

“It’s progressing, I think,” he replies with a small nod. “These things don’t move quickly, or so I’m told. Actually … I know this isn’t the best timing, but I do need to check with all of you that you’re okay with the movie idea. The producer says you’ll need to approve the use of your story and name.”

“Well, it’s fine with me,” Brooke smiles. “All publicity’s good publicity, you know? And I’m starting again from scratch.”

“And you know it’s fine with me, Luke,” Haley adds with an enthusiastic nod. “We’ve already discussed it.”

“Peyton?” Luke turns to the kitchen, where she’s facing away from them all, pulling mugs out of the cupboard.

“I’m happy to sign off on the use of my part in the story,” she tells him, glancing back over her shoulder as she arranges the coffee things, “and it’ll be easy enough for you to change my name, so yeah, it’s fine.”

“You won’t approve the use of your name?” he asks, the beginnings of a squint on display.

“No,” she says mildly, turning to face them all. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he demands rather forcefully. “It’s already in the book, it’s already out there.”

“Because you controlled the book,” she explains calmly. “It was your vision, and your words were beautiful, and, in a book, there is time to develop and explain. A movie isn’t like that.”

“But they’ve asked me to write the screenplay,” he replies confidently, raising his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I _can_ control that.”

“Lucas,” she counters firmly but still perfectly pleasantly, “that’s not the way movies work. There are so many factors; the director will influence it, the producer will influence it, the actors’ interpretations will influence it. I’m 100% fine with signing off on the use of the story of that part of my life, but not my name. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t see what your problem is,” he argues, hos tone changing to be almost plaintive. “Hales is good with it. Brooke is fine with it. God … Brooke Davis is a much bigger name than Peyton Sawyer. What’s so ...?” he trails off.

“What’s so special about me?” she supplies with a raised brow. “Is that where you were going? What’s _special_ about me, Lucas Scott, is that I am the only one of us who has a child to consider. I will protect her at all costs. I will decide when and how my daughter finds out about all of that history and ... and stuff that happened to me! And it won’t be from some Hollywood hack that has no scruples about how they get their story.”

“Alright,” he concedes. “I understand that ... but I can manage this, Peyton.”

He’s using that persuasive face he used to put on. That he used once upon a time, when he was trying to get her to go along with him; the one that she had no resistance to at all back then. Now, as if from a distance, she observes that it has absolutely no power over her anymore at all.

“No. You can’t,” she argues, now growing frustrated. “The screenwriter is only part of the equation.”

“So now you know more about how movies work than I do?”

“You know what, Lucas?” she says, arms akimbo and eyes flashing a little. “You can argue, persuade, cajole, turn on all your trademark Lucas charm, but I will _not_ change my mind on this.”

“I might have known _you’d_ be the one,” he spits out in frustration, almost bitterly.

“The _one_? The one to _what?”_

“To rain on my parade!” he exclaims forcefully. “The one to stomp on my dreams!”

“You are a piece of work, Luke. You really are,” she responds in disbelief. “Your dream does _not_ depend on my name. And it’s _my_ name. I won’t hand it over to you. Look,” she says throwing her arms in the ear in an exasperate gesture. “I’m going for a walk before I say something I may regret. I suggest you go and calm down. Maybe we can continue this later. Nate,” she says, turning slightly, the expression on her face and tone of her voice changing instantly, “can you keep an eye on Jules? She’s still running a little bit of a temperature; she’s fine but just check in on her in a bit? I’ll be back soon.”

She ducks out the door onto the deck before anyone can say a word, wraps the blanket firmly around herself and can soon be seen walking down the pier to the beach, long PJ pants protruding beneath the edges of the blanket, and fluttering in the breeze. After a minute of stewing on it, Lucas moves to follow her.

“Luke,” Haley starts, “maybe you should …”

“I can keep it ...”

“If she says you can’t, you can’t,” Nathan steps in, putting himself between his brother and the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What does she know about movies?” Luke protests.

“More than you realise,” his brother answers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“The producer? Paul …”

“Norris,” Lucas inserts, then stops and frowns. “Hang on. How would you know his name?”  
“I know his name because he’s Peyton’s daughter’s grandfather.”

“That’s impossible,” Lucas scoffs.

“It’s true. And, by the way,” Nathan adds with a knowing tone, “before you go accusing her of stomping on your dreams again, you might want to check who suggested to Paul Norris’ son that _Ravens_ would make a good movie project in the first place.”

“I’m going after her,” Lucas says with determination, “she’s just doing this to …”

“What Luke?” Nathan cuts in, volume winding up a little. “Just to annoy you? Don’t be a dick. She’s got a fair point. I’m not sure I want my name used either.”

“Oh great! Here we go. Take her side.”

“It’s not about sides!” Nathan counters strongly, his hand coming up and gesturing animatedly. “She wants to protect Juliet. And me? There’s stuff in the story that I don’t need raising its ugly head again, either. What’s the big deal, Lucas? They’re just names.”

Lucas throws his hands up in the air and leaves, sidestepping the group, striding out the door and across the deck, heading towards the pier. Nathan looks after him, then gazes into the distance for a few long seconds, then turns and casually starts clearing lunch plates.

“Ah, Nate?”

He looks up at Brooke, waiting for her to continue.

“Don’t you think you should …?”

“What?”

“Umm … go after Peyton?”

He looks genuinely puzzled. “Why would I do that?”

“Because she’s been an absolute rock for you the last few days and she just had a God almighty standoff with Lucas and she needs …”

“Brooke, she’s fine,” he says firmly. “If she needed me, believe me, I’d go.”

“But Broody’s in a fine old fettle and he’s gone after her. God knows what he’ll say next. He always got kind of … hopelessly inept with her. Lost his playing nicely words. And his big boy brain.”

Nathan rolls his eyes at her then shakes his head.

“Brooke, there’s a couple of very important things you’re missing here.”

“Oh? Please enlighten me.”

“He turned right at the end of the pier then started jogging.”

“And?”

“Sawyer went left.”

“Oh. Very 007.”

“Why thank you, M.”

“Ooh, I’m M? I love M!” she enthuses. “I’d be _such_ a good M. What’s the second thing?”

“C’mon Davis,” he says almost jovially. “You just spent nearly a week with Sawyer. You said she’s different. At any moment during that week, did she strike you as being a person who needs someone to step in and …”

“Save her?”

“Wouldn’t have been my first choice of words, no,” he replies rather drily.

Brooke studies him, thinking about his point of view.

“Brooke,” he continues, “she’s not that girl anymore. She’s strong and determined and trust me, if she believes not handing over the use of her name is the right thing to do, she will not back down. Not to some hotshot Hollywood producer and certainly not to a small-town author with two or more years of writer’s block.”

“Nathan!” Haley speaks sharply.

“Hales, I’m sorry,” he says, turning to face her, “but seriously? He has it coming. He was out of line and you know it. That’s why you never stepped in and agreed with him.”

“It’s not my fight to have!” she protests weakly. But the thing is … Nathan’s right and she _does_ know it; Lucas is way out of line.

“It’s _none_ of our fights to have,” he says, indicating the three of them. “Does he have a right to make a case? Sure. But she a _bsolutely_ has the right to say no. The fact that the movie producer is asking for permissions is the very proof that he knows they need them. And honestly? Lucas accusing her of stepping on his dreams? That’s just _bullshit!_ It was _her_ that suggested _Ravens_ as a movie idea to Paul’s son. And don’t forget it was her that sent the damned book out to publishers in the first place too. She didn’t stomp on his dream; she’s the one that made it come true! Lucas needs to respect her wishes. Actually, he needs to respect _her_. She’s not some insecure, lost, angsty teenager anymore and he can’t … well… he could try, I guess. But my money’s on her. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a bit, I need to go and check on Jules.”

Brooke and Haley watch Nathan go, then Haley sighs before she speaks to the brunette.

“Lucas thinks something’s going with Nathan and Peyton,” she says quietly, looking for any sort of telltale reaction from her old friend.

“Is that what this is about?” Brooke asks incredulously. “Broody’s being a jackass ‘cos he’s jealous?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Haley shrugs. “He’s just … so attached to the book and now the movie.”

“They _are_ just names, Haley.”

“Yeah, I guess. Do _you_ think they ...?”

“Nathan and Peyton?” Brooke asks and Haley nods.

“I _know_ they’re not,” Brooke replies. Haley observes the little twist at the corner of Brooke’s mouth and knows there’s more.

“And yet I detect a but, Tigger.”

“I’m 100% sure they’re _not_ ,” Brooke repeats, “but I’m also almost 100% sure they _will_ … but … the thing is , they don’t know it themselves yet.”

“Yeah,” Haley breathes.

“You barely spoke to either of them yesterday,” Brooke says, watching Haley with interest. “but you see it, too?”

“I do.”

“You okay with that Tutor Girl?”

“I left him, Brooke,” Haley sighs, with a helpless, resigned little shrug. “I had a stupid rebound relationship with his brother, and nearly lost my best friend as a result. If they can go from relationship to best friends and back to relationship, it’s not my place not to be okay with it.”

“I know, but …”  
“They look kind of … perfect together, don’t they?” Haley says, interrupting with a gentle smile.  
“They do, Hales. They really do.”

“He’s a great guy. He deserves to be happy.”

“Do I detect regret?”

“No. Or … not really. Not about where we are … maybe just how we got here? I … didn’t recognize at the time that it wasn’t Nathan’s fault. Or mine. I didn’t understand why I was so distrustful, so sad, so lonely, so …”

“… dissatisfied?” Brooke suggests, recognizing all of those feelings that Haley has listed.

Haley nods.

“Yeah,” Brooke sighs.

“Brooke, _I_ was depressed. Properly, clinically, needed a lot of help to get past it depressed. And I’m not ashamed of it anymore. But I left it far too long to get that help … so … don’t _you_ do that, okay Tigger?”

“Oh, I’m not depressed,” Brooke says flippantly, waving her hand.

“Brooke,” Haley warns in a maternal tone.

“You … think?”  
“Yeah, sweetie, I think.”

“What do I do, Hales? Oh, wise one?”

“Stay here In Tree Hill for a bit? I can give you the name of a great counsellor.”

And Brooke can’t help but think how odd it is that it’s both halves of the used-to-be-married couple that are giving her the tools to get back on her feet; Nathan the beach house and Haley the push towards some professional help, and maybe even the right professional to provide that help.

Juliet is awake but drowsy when he pops his head into her room. She spots him right away and smiles widely, moving to sit up.

“Hi Nathan!” she says chirpily.

“Hi sweetie,” he replies, moving from his position in the doorway and sitting on the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Still a bit sleepy.”

“You can go back to sleep for a while,” he says. “If you want to.”

“First, can you see if I’m still warm?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Gosh, that’s a lot of responsibility for me,” he teases. “How do I do that?”

“You put the back of your hand here,” she says, pointing to her forehead.

He complies, being careful to put a very thoughtful expression on his face.

“Hmmm,” he says. “Well, you don’t _feel_ warm to me. But maybe a drink of water would be a good idea anyway,” he says, taking her water bottle form the bedside cabinet and handing it to her.

She takes a few mouthfuls and hands it back to him.

“So, I’m not warm?”

“I don’t think so, but you’re right about still being sleepy, I think. You want to catch a few more zzzzzzzzs so you feel 100% this afternoon? I seem to recall there was ice cream on the agenda for this afternoon and you know that ain’t happening if you’re sick or too tired.”

She nods and snuggles down but, as he’s standing, reaches out to grip his fingers.

“Hey, Nathan?”

“Hey, Juliet?”

“That man …”  
“What man, sweetheart?”

“The man Auntie Brooke called Broody.”

“Oh,” he says, with a sudden onset of nervousness. “You mean Lucas?”

“Yes?” she says, scrunching up her noise. “I think so? Is … is he your brother?”

“Um,” Nathan starts, his spare hand wrapping around the back of his own neck. The gesture feels defensive so he knows what it must look like. Even to a kid. “Yes. Yes, he is,” he says, deciding to be straight. “Why do you ask?”

“I think I saw him before,” Juliet muses.  
“Where?”  
“At that basketball game? When Aunt P and I wore your jerseys. The invit … you know?”  
“The invitational?”

“Yes!”

“You’re right, Juliet. You did see him there. You have a very good memory, you know that?”  
“Yes! Mommy says it’s like an elephant’s!”

“Your Mommy might be right,” he says a little drily.

“Don’t you like your brother?” she asks innocently.

“Oh boy,” he mutters under his breath. “It’s … complicated.”

“Oh,” she says with a disappointed sigh. “That’s what grownups say when they just don’t want to explain.”

“Is that right?” he chuckles.

“Yes. My Mommy doesn’t though. Well … hardly ever. She says it’s better to be honest with kids even if that’s hard.”

He lets out a long exhalation and knows, in an instant and in his gut, that Peyton’s absolutely right, and that her philosophy was likely formed out of so much of her early history that he knows of, was part of, was witness to. Not being told she was adopted, being lied to, being cheated on – yeah, he’ll take the blame for that. His initial instinct was to be straight with Juliet, and he will be.

“Okay,” he says, perching on the side of the bed again. “Your Mom is right. It is better to be honest even if it’s hard. So. I’ll try. OK?”  
“Okay.”

“Lucas is my half-brother,” he begins. “That means we have the same Dad but we have different Moms. When we were little, we didn’t know each other at all, and that wasn’t our fault.”  
“Because kids have to do what the grownups say,” she interjects.

“Pretty much,” he nods. “When we were older, at high school, we learnt how to get along, and we learnt how to be brothers. And it was great for quite a long time, like when we were at college and after that.”

“Then something happened?”  
“Yes. I had a bad accident, and some other hard things happened, and … and on some things Lucas tried to be helpful to me, and on other things he was very unhelpful. So … we became a lot less close and we don’t see much of each other now.”  
“Is it … is it hard?” she asks, with genuine curiosity. “Not being close with your brother? If I had a brother or a sister, I’d love them very much I think.”  
“You would, sweetie,” he smiles. “And they’d love you too, because you are very lovable. Well, I said I’d be honest so … yes, sometimes it’s hard. I do still love my brother, Juliet, I really do. It’s just that a lot of the time I don’t _like_ him very much, and I don’t like the way he has treated people that I care about. And, sometimes just when I think we might be able to get along again, he says very mean things about people I care about, or does very mean things to people I care about, and I can’t be part of that. Even if he is my brother. But all of that … that still doesn’t mean it’s easy to not be close to him.”

“Nathan?” she asks, snuggling down further.

“Uh-huh?”

“I think you are very lovable too.”

“Well, thanks, I consider that a great compliment.”  
“Thank you for being honest with me. I hope it wasn’t too hard.”

“Not at all,” he says getting to his feet and leaning over to kiss her forehead. “You make everything easy, missy.”  
  


Later that afternoon, Peyton and a ‘bounced back after a good sleep and a quiet morning but now very impatient’ Jules are sitting outside the ice cream parlour on the pier, waiting for Jake and Jenny to join them.

“Mommy. How much longer?”

“Not long, sweetie … in a few minutes.”

“Can we get our ice cream now?”

“Well, we _could_ ,” Peyton says indulgently. “But then when Jake and Jenny arrive, ours will be finished and we’ll have to watch them eat theirs while we have none.”

“We could get more!?”  
“Hmmm. I think only one serving of ice cream today. So, do you want it now or when our friends arrive?”

“We should wait,” Jules concludes reluctantly.

“Good decision, Pickle. You’re very smart.”

“Can I listen to your iPhone music while we wait?”

“Sure. Will you share?”

Jules nods and they take out Peyton’s phone, taking an earphone each. Soon both are bopping away. Shortly, Jules looks up and pats her mother’s hand.

“Look Mommy. It’s Nathan’s brother and the lady who does the singing.”

“It is too. Good spotting, Jules.”

Peyton waves, though after the debacle a couple of hours earlier, she’s a little nervous, and Lucas and Haley come to a stop by the table.

“Haley, Lucas. Hi!”

“Hi guys,” Haley responds. “Are you getting ice cream?”

“When our friends arrive, which is soon,” Jules replies.

“Jake and Jenny will be here any minute,” Peyton explains.

“Wow,” Lucas comments sarcastically. “Sunday afternoon single parents outing. Nice.”

“Lucas!” Haley protests in a fierce whisper, glancing towards Peyton’s daughter.

“Excuse me?” Peyton interjects. She takes her earbud out and, when she hears his tone as he begins to talk again, puts it in Juliet’s other ear quickly. She stands, shielding her daughter from the aggressive stance and look Lucas is sporting.

“C’mon Peyt,” he’s saying snidely. “No wedding band. What’s the story? Did those Peyton Sawyer defensive walls drive him away? Did he ask and you said – shock horror – no, or sorry, ‘ _someday_ ’? Or was he just a dropkick who got you up the duff then took off?”

She dusts her palms down the legs of her jeans. Even not having seen her for years he can tell she’s livid, but she’s certainly doing a better of job of keeping cool than she used to.

“Haley,” she says calmly, “you might want to cover your ears too. This is going to get ugly.”

“Oh no, Peyton,” the shorter woman replies, shaking her head, “you be my guest.”

“Right, Lucas,” the tall, slender woman begins. “One. In the future should you feel the need to speak to me and really, at this point I don’t think I’m too fussed if you don’t ever again, please use my full name, which is Peyton, not Peyt.” She quickly checks that Jules is still occupied before continuing.

“Two. I am very grateful that your mother wasn’t here to hear you talk about single parents in such a disparaging way, because despite the ass you’re being right now, she did an _outstanding_ job of raising you without being married. And three. I find it incredible that you, of all people, would make such cruel speculations as to why a child’s father isn’t involved in their life. And that’s gonna bite you in your ass right now, Lucas Scott, because my daughter’s father _died_ when she was a year old. And honestly? I hope that makes you feel bad enough to stay away from me for a while, because next time you speak to me in anything even vaguely approaching the way you have today, _twice_ , I will not be held responsible for my words or my actions.”

“Peyt,” he begins remorsefully.

She stares fixedly at him, eyebrow raised.

“Peyton,” he corrects himself, but Jake’s voice from behind him interjects.

“I think you’d better leave now, Lucas, ‘cos Peyton may not be resorting to decking you yet, but if you say one more word, I will.”

Lucas starts to speak, but Haley quiets him with a dagger-filled look and begins to drag him away, murmuring apologies to Peyton as she goes.

“Haley, it’s alright,” Peyton replies. “Look, we’re leaving tomorrow and probably won’t see you again before we go, but it was good to see you, okay?” Haley pins Lucas to his spot with another glare while she takes a few steps back to Peyton. The girls hug briefly, and Haley and Lucas depart.

“Hales,” he starts after a few steps.

“Do _not_ speak to me right now, Lucas. My God, your mother would be devastated if she’d heard that performance.”

Sunday evening, Nathan, Peyton and Brooke are at the beach house lounging about in the living room, kicking back with Juliet, when a timid knock on the front door has Nathan on his feet.

“Hey, Hales. Knocking?” he chuckles after he’s opened the door. “Since when do any of us do that?”

“Hey. Yeah. I …”  
“You okay?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Peyton, and … and to you too.”

“Sure. Come on in.”

They walk into the living room together, where Peyton, Brooke and Juliet are bundled up on the sofa, halfway through a Disney movie. The three of them turn to see who has arrived and Haley notes Peyton’s surprise, and perhaps a little trepidation.

“Haley? _Three_ times in one day?” Peyton says with a nervous laugh. Nathan looks at her, confused, and she quickly explains that they’d run into Haley and Lucas while out getting ice cream.

“Oh yeah?” he says, instantly worried, “and how’d that go?”  
“Not so good,” Haley chips in, “that’s partly why I’m here, why I want to talk to Peyton.”

Peyton looks sideways at Juliet, stands, suggesting that she and Haley take a couple of blankets outside for a chat. As they’re about to go through the door, Haley looks back.

“Nathan? You too.”

“You sure? It’s not like I was there during the _ice cream incident_ …”  
“Please?” Haley asks. “I really need to talk to both of you. Together.”

He shrugs and follows them out, closing the door behind him and throwing a wink to Juliet as he does so. She giggles and tries to wink back but - not having mastered the art - gets a bit tangled up with a series of rapid blinks, then giggles madly before tucking herself back into Brooke’s side.

Outside, Haley is wringing her hands a little and looks decidedly nervous.

“Haley,” Peyton says softly, “you don’t need to … I mean … you’re not responsible for what Lucas said.”  
“Which was what exactly?” Nathan asks, sounding pissed already. “Did he have another go about the movie?”

“He just made a couple of less than choice remarks about me being a single parent,” Peyton says as if it’s nothing.  
“He _what?_ Has he forgotten how he grew up?”

“Nathan, it’s fine. Believe me, that comparison is one I made myself. And Jake and Jenny turned up before it turned into a real slanging match.”  
Haley’s hand comes out to touch Peyton’s arm.

“You were really restrained, Peyton,” she says softly. “And the way you protected Juliet from that discussion was amazing. I … I told Lucas that Karen would be ashamed of the way he spoke to you.”  
“Well, I appreciate that, but … anyway, like I said, there’s no need for you to apologise for his actions, Haley.”

“No,” Haley said softly, “but it got me to thinking. And … I realized that I couldn’t really stand there, taking a moral stance and telling him off for being such an ass to you, all because of ancient history, when I did something much worse, also because of ancient history.”

“Hales?” Nathan asks, not unkindly. “What’s up?”

“I owe you both an apology. I … I know you two haven’t been back in touch for very long … and I don’t know how much you’ve talked about … well, about Nathan’s accident and … you may not even realise … but …”

Peyton rested her hand on top of Haley’s, which was still clutching her forearm.

“Foxy, it’s okay. We … if this is what you wanted to bring up … we did figure out about the cards that I sent, that you didn’t pass them on to Nathan. About you not forwarding them on. Actually, it was even the first time we saw each other. It was kind of a fluke that it came up, but …”  
“I’m so sorry,” Haley says emotionally, looking from Peyton’s green eyes to Nathan’s navy blue. “It was a really shitty thing to do. There’s no excuse for it.”

“Haley,” Nathan asks, “why do it though? It’s in the past, and it doesn’t matter now, really. I … I appreciate you ‘fessing up and apologizing, but I don’t get why you did it. We split because it’s what _you_ wanted. And it’s not like I was leaning on _you_ after the accident. So … why?”

Haley’s eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head sadly.

“You didn’t lean on me because I didn’t give you that option. I should have. I should have been there for you, even if we weren’t together anymore. You tried _so_ hard with me, Nathan, when I was in that dark place. You tried so hard and I wouldn’t let you help. And … I don’t know … it’s almost like I felt like I didn’t deserve to be able to help you, even though I knew you needed it. Even if it was just with practical stuff. And … when the first of Peyton’s cards arrived … I knew straight away who it was from. And I knew straight away that no matter what was in there, that it would help you. And I … I was so jealous, and I couldn’t …”  
“Jealous?” Peyton asks, wrapping her arm around Haley and hugging her from the side. “Haley, I don’t understand. I hadn’t even seen any of you for so long by then. There was nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m not suggesting there was anything untoward, Girly. It’s just … I know that back in high school, when I left on the tour, when I let Nathan down, I know it was you that held him together. And I know it was you that made him not give up on me … and I just felt like I’d left him again, and I was letting him down again, and … I don’t know why I did it, why I took away that opportunity for him to have your support again. If I could have it over … but I can’t. And … well, I just want you both to know that I’m sorry. I regret it very much. And I hope you can forgive me. And don’t you dare say there’s nothing to forgive!”

Peyton smiles and shakes her head.

“I won’t say there’s nothing to forgive, but it’s in the past and it’s done and it’s really good to see that Haley James still has all that integrity that I remember. I missed it and I missed you, and I really hope we can be better at being in each other’s lives from now on.”

“Really?”

“Really. And I’m sorry but looking in there I can see that my daughter is looking very droopy-eyed so I’m gonna drag her out of her Aunt Brooke’s clutches and get her into bed.”

“Thank you, Peyton.”  
“You’re more than welcome. I’m heading back to Charlotte tomorrow, then LA on Tuesday, but I’ll get your details from Nathan and we’ll talk, yeah?”

Haley nods and throws her arms around Peyton, hugging her tight, then smiling as the taller woman heads inside.

“So,” she says, looking up to her ex-husband. “Want to slap me?”

“If I thought for a minute that you were thinking straight back then, and that you did it maliciously, and if I didn’t think that any guy that hits a girl for any reason whatsoever is scum, then yeah … maybe.”

“Nathan, I …”

“Hales, it’s okay. I can’t really understand why, and you can’t really explain why … because you weren’t _you_ back then. So … let’s just use Sawyer’s philosophy and say it’s in the past and it’s done and just … be in each other’s lives from now on.”  
“Can we … be friends?” she asks nervously, wringing her hands a little in a gesture that is so familiar to him, even if he hasn’t seen it for a long time now.

“Aren’t we already?” he smiles.

“Sort of. You’ve been amazing, Nathan. You’ve been really generous with me, no grudges and everything. But … we could be really _good_ friends, couldn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I think maybe we could.”  
“Thank you.”  
“So as my _really good_ friend, Haley James, what’s your take on what my dumbass brother is up to?”

“I have no idea!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up in a helpless gesture. “He is being _such_ a jerk about anything to do with Peyton. I mean … he’s kind of not been himself for a long time, but this is just …”  
“You think he still has feelings for her?”  
Haley smiles softly at Nathan. “I think you always have some feelings left over from your first love, don’t you?”

He gets the subtext, of course, and smiles back at her.

“Of course, Hales. Of course, you do. Of course, we all do. But that’s different to … active, wanting to … you know what I mean. Is he still _in love_ with her?”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple,” she replies slowly and carefully. “I think … well, he won’t talk about it and he got really cross when I asked him if that could be why he was so awful with Peyton this morning. I think he blames her for a lot of things; that he’s still single because no one can measure up to her, that he’s been blocked for so long with his writing. I know he thinks she’s his muse and I know he thinks that when she’s not in his life, that’s why he can’t write. And _I_ think maybe _he_ thinks that he’s in denial _with himself_ about still being in love with her, and honestly can’t work out if he really is or not. He’s just … he’s lived with loving her in one way or another for so long and I don’t think he knows how _not_ to be in love with her, even if he isn’t … if that makes any sense at all.”

“I think in your very cute rambling way, you just hit the nail on the head.”

“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“So … you and Peyton?” she asks a little coyly, tipping her head back to get a straight look into his eyes.

“It is _so_ good to have her back,” he nods. “It’s like … it’s insane … I went to this sketch portrait session thing and there she was … and we just talked and … well … _I_ talked and talked. And we caught up again the next night, and it’s like she was never gone.”

“You two look amazing together.”  
“What? No … not … not together together,” he protests. “Just … you know, I meant good to have my _friend_ back. My best friend. It’s like we’ve leapt from Senior Year to here. She’s just …”

“She gets you.”  
“Yeah.”  
“She gets you like no one else ever did,” Haley expands.  
“Well … I wouldn’t say …” he demurs with an awkward little gesture towards her.  
“Nathan. It’s true; Peyton Sawyer gets you like no one else ever did, and I include myself in that. And I’m so pleased that fate has made sure she came back into your life just in time to be there for you now. I know it’s such a tough time for you, but it’s very clear that Peyton is making it bearable.”

“She has been amazing.”  
“Like I said, you look amazing together.”  
“It’s not like that.”  
“If you say so, Nathan Scott.”

“I do say so, Haley James.”  
“Hmmm,” Haley muses as they both step towards the door. “So … what do you think about Lucas then?” she asks. “You think he’ll stop being an ass and try and get her back?”  
“She wouldn’t even consider it.”  
“Not what I asked.”  
“He could try, I guess. I mean, if he _wanted_ me to hand him his ass on a plate.”

He opens the door and stands back to let Haley go through first.

“Yup,” she mutters under her breath, “not like that, _at all_.”

She huffs to herself as she walks through the door; so … Lucas maybe _isn’t_ still in love with Peyton but thinks he might be in denial to himself about it and that he might be, and is confused about that, but Nathan thinks he _isn’t_ in love with her, when he _is_? _Clearly_ , he is. Denial is a weird, weird thing.

  
  


The drive back to Charlotte is easy. Nathan and Peyton leave late afternoon on Monday; the traffic is light and, worn out by the emotion of the weekend, Juliet elects to stay with her Grandad in Tree Hill for ‘a good night’s sleep because I really need it, Mommy’ before they travel back the next day. Peyton suspects it has far more to do with another morning playing with Jenny and, perhaps, a scoot past the beach house to see ‘our bestest friend Aunty Brookie’ before Sawyer the elder and Baker the younger depart. She’s feeling just a little surplus to requirements with her daughter to be honest. When she makes a joke to the effect that she’s no longer needed, Juliet looks at her with wide eyes and bolts to wrap her skinny arms around her mother’s legs.

“No! I will _always_ need you Mommy! Always, always, always.”

So … the drive is easy, as is their conversation. She wonders, several times, if she should raise the subject of the kiss. The _kisses_. But in the end, he seems okay and she knows she’s okay with it; she wouldn’t say it didn’t mean anything, but she knows how fraught the moment was, how utterly devastated he was … is … and that not meaning nothing isn’t the same as meaning something … that it doesn’t … huh … well, she knows what she means. And, anyway, she’s pretty sure she can count on Nathan, never afraid to express an opinion or challenge BS, to bring it up if he feels awkward, or thinks there’s an issue. If nothing else, even in the bad old days, she always knew he’d be honest. Sometimes _too_ honest.

She’s a bit surprised, nevertheless, when, as she’s getting out of the car, he suddenly grips her wrist and tugs her back into the vehicle. And, just as suddenly, his relaxed visage has turned almost … tortured.

“Peyton,” he says with a gravelly tone, “about … about us kissing …”

“Nathan,” she says as gently as she can, “sssshhhhh.”

“Just … I don’t know …” he says with a helpless shrug, looking at her with the puppiest puppy dog eyes she’s ever seen.

“I know,” she soothes, rubbing her thumb over the inside of his wrist, feeling the deep seated throb of his pulse. “I know.”

“I can’t even …”

“Nathan, it’s just me,” she reminds him, smiling with genuine compassion.

“Are we … okay?” he asks, his voice shaking with nerves.

“More than,” she assures him.

“Because I can’t …” he stops and shakes his head. “I can’t ever thank you …”

“It’s just as well you don’t need to then, right?”

“Well,” he says, with an appreciative smile back at her, “if you ever get sick of running kickass galleries, you could always become a grief counsellor.”  
“Are you suggesting I go around giving out kiss therapy?” she teases him lightly.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says without consideration, but she doesn’t read anything into it and gently extracts her hand from his still firm grip.

“I’ll see ya, Nate,” she smiles softly. “And … you know you can call me whenever, right?”

“Whenever it hits?” he replies, thinking of her warning about it coming in waves.

“Yeah.”

“I … yeah. Thanks. I might just take you up on that.”  
“You better, buster!”

Only three days later, when she and Juliet are back in LA, he does indeed take her up on it. He’s due on the court in less than half an hour and he’s completely bummed out. He tanked at practice earlier in the day and, while Bobby was sympathetic and understanding, he also made it clear that he’d pull Nathan off if it came to it.

Nathan can’t bear the thought of that. He needs to be on the court. He needs to play it out. But the team does come first, and his head is a mess and he’s tried, really, he has, but he just can’t pull himself out of it. And there’s only one thing he can think of to do.

“Hey,” she says, her voice warm but carefully light; she’s trying to hide the concern. “Aren’t you due to go on any minute?”

“I … yeah.”  
His voice is flat, and she can’t feel any energy at all coming down the airwaves from him.

“Nathan. What is it?”

“His voice has been in my head since Freshman year of high school, Peyton. How do I play without him?” he asks her, desolately.

“Oh honey,” she sighs.

“I just … I’m …”

“All I can do is tell you what worked for me, okay?”  
“With Julian?”  
“With my Mom. And Ellie. And yeah, with Julian, too.”

“This better be good Sawyer, ‘cos I’m, just … I’m _lost_ here.”

“You don’t think of it as being _without_ them.”  
“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t play _without_ him, Nathan; you play _for_ him.”

“I … yeah.”  
“Does that make sense?”

“Shit yes. It really, really does.”

“So … you gonna get out there and make Whitey proud?”

“I am,” he says firmly, and there it is; she can hear the energy in his voice now.  
“Need another incentive?”  
“Actually, I think I’m good,” he laughs. “Thanks to you. But hit me anyway.”  
“You know those cards I sent you that your ex-wife never passed on?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I found the not quite final version of my favourite one.”

“Wow. I … don’t send it, okay? I mean … if you were going to, don’t.”  
“No?”  
“I don’t want to risk it going missing. Give it to me next time you’re back in town. But … can you send a photo?”  
“Now?”  
“That’d be great.”

“Okay. I’ll grab it and send it in a minute. And hey, Hotshot?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I know it’s not the same, but _I’m_ proud of you.”

“It might not be the same, but it’s just as important. I … you’re kind of keeping me afloat.”  
“You’d do it for me, right?”

“Damn straight. I … shit. I have to go.”  
“Check your phone in a minute. And go get ‘em!”

He joins his teammates and, when Bobby stares him down, Nathan’s able to lift his head, square his shoulders and stare right back. Bobby nods, satisfied that his lynchpin won’t let him down, and launches into his final instructions, including the starting lineup. Nathan still holds his breathe while his coach runs through the names, but it’s only a few seconds until he can release it; he’s starting.

After Bobby’s done, Nathan checks his phone as he fine tunes his shoelaces.

The photo of the card is there, and it gives him everything he needed and more. It’s a take on the archetypal evolution of man, with a basketball twist. A baby sitting, then crawling with a hand extended towards a soft mini basketball. Then toddling, then walking, holding a full-size ball, though it seems to be far too big for his little boy hands. A teen, ball pinned effortlessly to his hip, dragging the other through his hair; hair that looks suspiciously like Nathan’s during Junior year of high school. A grown man built just like Nathan was in his college days (proof that she did watch his games, he thinks). A dramatic dip in the height of the silhouettes for the next one; an adult man in a wheelchair, looking wistfully up at a hoop that seems terribly out of reach. He draws in a breath then allows that pain to fill him up with determination as his eyes move to the final figure; a ball player leaping as if in flight as he reaches high for a slam dunk.

He can’t believe this was the card she sent him when he was still in the depths of despair, and when Haley was … actually, yeah. He _can_ believe it. He still wishes Peyton had been there, but he also knows that if he’d gotten out of his own damned head and phoned her and asked for her help, that she _would_ have been. He pushes his phone, after one last look, into his locker, along with his jacket and exhales sharply.

“Scott! Get your ass over here.”  
He turns and jogs.

He has two people to make proud.


	11. No Panic Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the hospital and rush in, eventually finding Larry who, when they turn a corner at a near run, they see is speaking to a doctor at the end of the hallway.  
> “Dad! What’s happening?”

It’s a strong season for Nathan, and a strong season for the Bobcats. Not quite strong enough to make the playoffs, but they came within a whisker, and as heartbreaking as it is to get so very close then not quite get there, Bobby, along with the entire organization, is thrilled. Next year, they’re taking it further; they all know it.

There’s an end of regular season event on, of course; for the team, the sponsors, the staff, the families, the local press and sports’ journos. It makes sense for them to go together, and Peyton’s been getting ready, expecting Nathan to pick her up in a while. She often gets ready a little early if she’s out for the evening, then sits with Jules, each with a glass – a nice pinot gris for Mom and a nice apple juice (in a small wine glass) for daughter – and just … chill together for a little bit.

She’s literally pouring the liquid into the glasses when her phone buzzes and, seeing that it’s Bobby, she flicks it to speaker and answers it.

“Hey coach!”

“Hey, it’s me.”  
“Nathan?” she asks after just a second. “Why are you on Bobby’s phone?”

“I left mine at the apartment,” he says with a decidedly flustered, clipped speed to his speech. “I was actually hoping you’d swing by and grab it for me? I’m expecting an important …”  
“But … aren’t you supposed to be picking me up?” she asks, sounding quite confused.

“Yeah … that’s the other thing,” he says with a shamefaced tone, and she can see, in her mind, his head ducked and his palm wrapped around the back of his own neck as he tells her he’s letting her down.  
“So I take it you’re _not_ picking me up?” she teases.

“I’m sorry, Peyt,” he sighs. “I’m stuck with sponsors at the hotel where this shindig is, and I can’t get away. Thankfully, I picked my tux up from the cleaners on the way in this morning but … I really need that phone.”  
“Exactly who are you expecting to hear from?” she laughs. “The President?”  
“I … actually … NBA TV.”  
“What?” she asks, completely shocked.  
“Yeah … they … they’ve asked if I’m interested in doing some commentary … sort of a player’s take on things for the playoffs.”  
“Nathan!” she exclaims breathlessly. “That’s amazing!”

“Well … I haven’t got it yet and they said they’d let me know tonight or tomorrow and … I mean … I was going to tell you as we drove in. I’m so sorry about not being able to …”  
“Of course I’ll get your phone,” she laughs, still thrilled for him. “Don’t be crazy!”

“Shall I meet you in the lobby and we’ll go in together?”  
“Yeah,” she agrees, her heart racing a little. Must be excitement for him. “That sounds great.”  
“You’ve got a key, right?”  
“To your shitty little shoebox of an apartment?” she snorts. “Yes Nathan. You have entrusted me with that _very_ dubious honour. You really need to get a decent place, you know?”  
“I will. I just … it seems easier not to until … I just really need to sell the Tree Hill house first.”

“No bites?”  
“Nope. It’ll happen when it happens, I guess. Hey, look … I gotta go. I’ll see you in a while.”

Oddly, Jules is in a bit of a spin about Peyton going out, which she wouldn’t be usually. She toys with her apple juice and pouts horribly when Peyton reminds her that it’s nearly time for her to go out, then threatens a full-scale tantrum when Peyton tries to be firm. She calms down quickly, but she’s on the verge of her tears, her green eyes welling while she blinks furiously so stop them overflowing, and then her bottom lip trembles as she tells Peyton that she’s sorry for being a brat.

“Oh honey,” Peyton soothes, wrapping her arms around her, “you’re not a brat. Not ever.”

“I feel …”  
“What do you feel sweetie?”  
“I feel sad,” Jules says in a wobbly voice. “I feel … oh, I don’t know! I just want to be with you.”  
“Oh, I do wish I could stay with you, I really do,” Peyton croons. “Does it help at all that this is the last Bobcats event for this season and then I’ll have more time?”

“Yes,” Jules whispers.

Peyton catches Larry’s sympathetic eye while she checks her watch and has an idea.

“Sweetie, how about,” she begins, smoothing her palms over her daughter’s shoulders as she speaks, “if you promise you won’t try to stretch it out, I take you with me, and we pick up Nathan’s phone, then we go the hotel and we have a quick hot chocolate in the hotel bar, then Grandad comes and picks you up from there?”

“Mommy! Yes, please! Is that okay? Are you sure?” she spins then, appealing to Larry too. “Grandad? Can you?”

“I’m sure,” Peyton says as Larry nods. “But you have to promise there will no attempts at stretching it out!”

She spots his phone on the counter as soon as they open the door to his _shitty little shoebox of an apartment._ Just as she reaches for it, it buzzes with an incoming message and she can’t help but see it. Or take note. Because it’s from Brooke.

_Hotshot. Put me out of my misery! I NEED to know the dress code for the big first date on Saturday. I’m going crazy here! Bxxx_

Her heart’s racing again and she knows it’s not excitement about Nathan’s potential broadcasting opportunity. It’s … uncomfortable. _Very_ uncomfortable.

What? Really, what the hell? They’re her _friends_ and she loves them, both of them. And she wants them both to be happy. But why haven’t they told her they’re about to start dating? And … why are they even thinking about this? And …

Her own phone rings as she’s driving towards the hotel. Again, it’s Brooke. Peyton finds herself all but glaring at the cheery face of her friend, but she doesn’t answer the call, her jaw tightening until the buzzing stops.

“Mommy, that was our bestest friend Brooke!”

“Yes. Yes, sweetie, it was.”  
“Why didn’t you answer it?” Jules asks, her innocent face turning towards her mother.  
“I ... it’s not really safe to talk on the phone while you’re driving, Pickle. You know that.”  
“Oh. Will you call her back?”  
“I ... well, not while I’m having girl time with my favourite Pickle!” Peyton says, forcing a light tone into her response. “This hot chockie is all about _you_!”

And it is all about Juliet, but even so, Peyton’s distracted while her daughter has her hot chocolate. She can feel it. She knows it. And she feels, suddenly, pissed that Nathan didn’t share his amazing NBA TV news with her, and irrationally pissed that she had to drive herself, and so won’t be able to have more than one glass of champagne when, quite frankly, she feels like grabbing a bottle and sitting in a corner and slugging it back while she glares at everyone within sight. Especially 6 foot 2 inch, brunette ball players. Even if said ball player will look ridiculously sexy in his tux.

He’s in the lobby when she walks through, Juliet’s hand in hers. And her temperature rises further when he immediately drops to his knee and makes a big fuss of Juliet. She loves that he does that. Well, she _usually_ loves that he does that. Right now, it’s … making her blood boil that he’s lavishing her daughter with attention. What the hell is wrong with her?

He stands and holds out his hand expectantly and she looks at it blankly before she looks up at him, her forehead crinkling into a frown. His eyes are dark as they sweep up her legs, encased in swirling silk as they are, and that makes her even more pissed. He’s got plans with Brooke this weekend, and he’s looking at her like … like she looks amazing or something, but he hasn’t said a word to her in greeting, and he certainly hasn’t told her she looks nice and he’s just waiting expectantly, with his hand out.

“What?” she says with a bite to her tone.

“Um? My phone?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls it from her bag and all but slaps it into his palm.

“Wow,” he mutters. “Is that shades of teen Sawyer I see?”

“Makes sense,” she fires back. “When you’re behaving like a right d…”

“ _What?_ ” he cuts in, shocked at the word he thinks she was about to use in front of Jules. Not to mention he has no idea why. “What’s got into you?”

She drags her hand through her hair, as much as she can when it’s in an elegant ‘up-do’, and sighs.

“Nathan,” Juliet says, reaching for his hand and looking between him and Peyton with wide, concerned eyes. “Doesn’t Mommy look pretty? Grandad said she looks like Grace Kelly. I don’t know who that is, but Grandad says she was a _class act_ , just like his baby girl. Don’t you think she looks pretty?”

“She does,” he says, turning his gaze, still a little confused, from Juliet to her mother, where it softens. “But then she always looks beautiful.”

Peyton hears her name and turns to see her Dad striding across the lobby. Juliet follows her mother’s look and bounces across to Larry, in high spirits again, laughing when he picks her up and tickles her under her chin. He waves to Peyton and chucks his chin at Nathan and Peyton mouths ‘thanks Dad’ to him, then he’s striding away again, fully engaged with the youngest Sawyer girl.

Nathan’s hand skims her lower back as she turns to walk towards the ballroom, where the Bobcats’ event is being held, but she accelerates away from him, casting a withering look sideways.

“You need to learn how to take a compliment.” he teases lightly as he catches her and falls into step beside her.

“You need to learn how to be a grown up,” she bites back.

“Jesus Sawyer!” he bites back, growing, feeling just like he did at sixteen when her mood would turn on a dime and she’d verbally lash him. “I forgot my phone! It happens.”

“I wasn’t …”

“What?”  
“Just … forget it, Nathan,” she mutters as she walks through the wide doorway, leaving him looking absolutely bewildered.

During the evening, their eyes meet several times. She looks away. Or he looks way. Or she raises her eyebrow at him. Or he narrows his eyes at her. It’s ridiculous and childish and she can’t help herself. She’s pissed that he’s taking Brooke out on a date and she shouldn’t be. It feels like Junior year all over again, and she doesn’t get why it feels like that. He’s pissed that she’s pissed at him, when he doesn’t know what he’s done. He couldn’t help being held up and that’s not normally something that would get her all fired up and launching into sarky alpha bitch mode. At least, not this version of her, the current version. The teenaged version? Maybe. Probably. Definitely.

She’s talking to Bobby at one point and realizes she’s not really focusing so tries to haul her attention back, just in time to hear him mention that he’s really looking forward to his dinner with Brooke, and does she have any tips for how he might impress the brunette?

“Sorry?” she asks with a frown, feeling her breath stall in her chest. “You have a dinner date with Brooke? _My_ Brooke? Brooke Davis?”

“Um, yeah. On Saturday. Is that a … is that a problem?”

“Oh God, no,” she responds quickly, hearing the … is that relief? … in her own voice. “It’s awesome, Bobby. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her today, so I’m not caught up on the gossip.”

“So … I hope this isn’t overstepping any lines,” he grins, “but … any tips?”

“Just be you,” Peyton advises with a wide smile. “She … don’t get all caught up in the Brooke Davis, ex-fashion empire CEO. She’s just a girl, _like any other girl_. She’s a small-town girl who’s made it big in the city, but she just wants a real guy who appreciates her for herself, _just like any other girl_. Don’t pretend. Don’t lie. And,” she adds sternly with her finger raised in warning, “don’t hurt her. Or I’ll rip your face off!”

He laughs. “Warning duly noted. And no intention of doing any damage. I have kids, remember. I … I don’t take the dating thing lightly anymore. Someone’s got to be worth introducing to my family if I’m even going to consider getting involved.”

She smiles widely and pats his arm. “I think you and Brooke will be just fine.”

She feels Nathan’s eyes on her again and looks up. He’s speaking to the CEO of one of their major sponsors, and she can tell even from this distance that he’s doing his very best to not look bored. This time he doesn’t look away, and he doesn’t narrow his eyes. He just looks … a bit baffled, a bit hurt, and she feels like a prize bitch. She shrugs at him, winks and pokes her tongue out. Now he’s trying hard not to crack up in front of the bigwig. She still feels bad, but she knows they’ll be okay; she’ll apologise later. She’s not sure how she’ll spin it; telling him she had a high school sized freak out over the idea of him dating Brooke isn’t something she’s going to mention. She needs to figure that one out herself first.

As she’s about to walk away from Bobby she feels her phone vibrate in her bag and takes it out, not expecting to actually pick up the call, but it’s her Dad so she does answer it. Nathan looks over to see her with her phone at her ear looking puzzled, then alarmed. She speaks to Bobby again very briefly then rushes out of the room. Bobby’s eyes scan the room, clearly looking for someone. Nathan suspects it’s him, so he excuses himself from the conversation and starts pushing his way through the crowd towards Bobby, who catches his eyes and beckons him over.

“Coach?” Nathan asks, his concern ramping up immediately when he sees, up close, the look in Bobby’s eyes.  
“You saw that?”  
“What’s up?”

“Her daughter’s been rushed into hospital. That’s all I know. She wanted me to tell you you’ll need to find your own way home.”

“Which hospital?”  
“Carolinas Medical.”  
“Bobby …” he starts, his face one big plea.  
“I’ll cover for you here,” Bobby nods. “Go. Go on. Look after them both.”

He literally runs after her, his dress shoes slapping against the hotel hallway tiles then across the tarmac of the carpark but doesn’t catch her until she’s almost at her car. Man, that girl can move when she needs to. He slows as he gets closer and reaches out for her shoulder. She spins and punches hard and fast into his gut and is immediately ready to knee him.

“Whoa! Not the knee in the groin!” he gasps, bending over a little.

“Shit Nathan! What the hell …?” She is shaking and pale. So’s he a little after that punch.

“Give me your keys,” he says, holding out his hand, in a gesture not unlike the one when he was waiting for her to put his phone into his hand, yet somehow it’s completely different. “You’re not in a fit state to drive.”

“Neither are you now! Why’d you creep up on me?”  
“I’ve been yelling out your name for the last couple of minutes! Now, give me your keys and get in. Then tell me what you know.”

She acquiesces and, as he pulls out of the carpark, she finally speaks.

“It was my Dad on the phone. He’s taken Jules into Carolinas Medical. She’s got a really high fever. It shot up superfast. She’s really drowsy and keeps falling over. It sounds like she hit her head when she fell down.”

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it, then holds it firmly.

“She’ll be fine, Sawyer,” he says with a tone that is reassuring and calm. “She’s a tough little cookie, just like her Mom.”

“What if she’s not?” she whispers fearfully.

“She _will_ be. Fevers, bumps on the head … this is normal kids’ stuff. And Carolinas Medical is the best hospital in the city.”

“It is?” she asks, her eyes blinking hopefully at him.  
“Absolutely. Your Dad chose the right one.”

They arrive at the hospital and rush in, eventually finding Larry who, when they turn a corner at a near run, they see is speaking to a doctor at the end of the hallway.

“Dad! What’s happening?”  
“Honey, this is Dr Caldwell; she was just filling me in. Doctor, this is Juliet’s Mom, Peyton Sawyer, my daughter.”

“Dr Caldwell?”

“Ms Sawyer.”

“Please, just Peyton.”

“Peyton,” she smiles warmly. “Okay. Juliet’s fever is very high. We’re running fluids and getting her into an ice blanket to get that down. We don’t usually worry about a fever on its own too much, but it is particularly high, and I don’t want to wait on that.”

“What’s causing it?”  
“We don’t know. We’ve done some bloodwork and the results will be back shortly, but I wanted to act. The fluids and ice blanket won’t do any harm anyway.”

“Okay. And what about the falling down?”

“It’s hard for us to assess that when she wasn’t conscious when she came in.”

“She was unconscious? Dad?”

She can’t help it; the need to hang on to something solid is physical and overwhelming, and she instinctively grabs for Nathan.

“She was awake when we left home, honey,” Larry explains. “By the time I got here she was out.”

“She’s never been unconscious,” Peyton says, her voice rising. “She _never_ falls down.”

“As I was saying,” the doctor continues, touching Peyton’s arm reassuringly, “the falling down is hard to assess as children have such varying degrees of coordination, but your Dad was telling me that Juliet is a particularly coordinated and athletic child.”

“She is, I think. I don’t really have anyone else to compare her to.”

“She is,” Nathan nods, “more so than my three young cousins and they’re pretty athletic as it is.”

“So, something is affecting her balance quite severely,” the Doctor . “That could be as simple as an inner ear infection, but it does look like she’s knocked her head when she’s fallen.”

“How … how badly?” Peyton asks, worried.

“I think not too badly. There’s no breaks to the skin and no visible bruising. Just a bump.”

“So, what do we do now?”  
“Just wait for now. We’ll work on getting the fever spike down and get those test results back then take it from there. Peyton, I’m a Mom too and I know the waiting is awful, but she’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”  
“Absolutely. We’ve probably just got a combo of an inner ear issue, an unrelated infection that’s causing the fever and they’re working together to effect Juliet’s balance. I suspect that if she’s usually very well coordinated, she’s just tried to do something very normal for her, then fallen when it didn’t go quite as planned.”

“Can we see her?”

“Sure. No more than two at a time, just for a few minutes. She’s still out … but I really don’t want you to worry about that. It’s just her body resting and fighting back.”

“So … no panic required?”

“No panic required,” Dr Caldwell assures her calmly. “But your Dad did the right thing coming in so quickly. These things can get out of control if left. You head in to see your girl for a few minutes. I’m going to go and chase up those test results.”

Peyton heads into Jules’ room, while Nathan stands in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest, watching her tenderly brush hair back from Jules’ forehead and place several careful kisses on it.

“Hey Pickle,” she murmurs, “now I know you didn’t want me to go out tonight, but that’s no reason to get all dramatic on me. You’re going to be fine, and I’ll be right here until you wake up, okay? And you know I’m the world’s grumpiest Mom if I don’t get enough sleep ... so you better wake up soon.”

Larry pops his head into the room and calls his daughter’s name softly. “I’m going to head off, Chicken,” he tells her. “I’ll bring you back some clothes and things in the morning, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad. Thanks so much for getting her here so fast. Will you ... can drop Nathan back home?”

“Oh no,” Nathan pipes in, “I’m not leaving you here alone. I’ll stay.”

“Nate, it’s fine,” she protests. “The doctor said Jules’ll be fine. There’s no point more of us losing sleep than is necessary.”

“The _point_ is that I don’t want you to be here alone,” he insists.

“Okay,” she smiles gratefully, feeling infinitely better the second she accepts his help. “Thank you. It will be better having company.”

Larry presses his hand onto Nathan’s shoulder and nods at him, then heads out. The remaining pair stay in Jules’ room, not speaking much, and watching on as, over the next couple of hours, nurses pop in and out, checking up on the pale little girl in the bed that seems huge around her.

After another spell, a new nurse comes in, dressed in cheerful purple scrubs and looks them up and down.

“You know you two are really showing us up in your fairy tale finery!?” she laughs, indicating Nathan’s tux and Peyton’s stunning floor length gown.

“Oh …. I forgot,” Nathan responds. “We were at a function.”

“Bobcats, yeah?”  
Peyton rolls her eyes.

“You see, Hotshot,” she says, mock punching Nathan’s shoulder, “all the pretty nurses love a pro ball player.”

“I think this pro ballplayer only has eyes for his own girls,” the nurse replies with a grin.

“Oh, we’re not …” Peyton begins, only to be cut off by the man next to her.

“Of course,” he says, with his blue eyes flashing, “who could blame me?”

“Lucky girls,” the nurse flirts mildly back. “Anyway, I thought I’d let you know there’s a call room just down the hall. I brought you some scrubs; you’re welcome to change into them and get some sleep in the call room. Juliet is resting comfortably; the fever has come down a little and I think it’ll keep coming back down nicely. That light sedative will keep her resting.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to leave her,” Peyton replies.

“I’d offer you a cot for in here but they’re all in use. Look … you’ll be less than a minute away and I think you’ll be of more use to her tomorrow if you’ve had a little rest yourself. I’m on all night. I’ll come and get you if there’s anything at all you need to know. And even if she does start to wake up, I can have you in here before she’s even halfway alert.”

Peyton looks to Nathan for a view, and he nods firmly.

“C’mon, Sawyer,” he suggests, pulling her into his side. “Let’s at least try to get some sleep. You look pretty shattered and I know I’m exhausted, especially after fighting off that carpark attacker!”

She rolls her eyes, then nods her concession and, after she places a goodnight kiss on her daughter’s cheek, he threads his fingers through hers and gently leads her down the hallway.

In the call room, he changes into the larger scrubs quickly, while she just sits, staring into the distance. He pulls her gently to her feet and turns her around so that her back is to him and tenderly unzips the dress, removing it to find she is naked underneath. He pulls the scrub top over her head and hands her the trousers to put on herself, then lays down on the call room bed and pulls her down to lie next to him.

“So that’s how you get that sleek, streamlined look, huh?”

She’s confused. “What?”

“Nothing under the dress?”

He loves the flush that rises over her cheeks. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Oh, trust me, Sawyer; there is absolutely no apology required!”

She slaps his arm gently. “There’s the old Nathan Scott!” she says with an almost chuckle.

“Sorry,” he grins, clearly not sorry at all.

“No apology required,” she mimics, “especially when you don’t even mean it! Besides, I kinda like it when that guy shows up every so often.”

“You do?”  
“Sure. He’s hilarious and kinda …”

“Sexy? Hot?”  
“I was going to go with nostalgic but sure, I’ll give you sexy and hot.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that and she can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Good to know I’ve still got it,” he says.

“Yeah, but you’re not using it,” she points out. “You need to get back out there, Nate. Cash in those pro athlete chips.” She has no idea why she’s saying this, given her internal reaction to the very thought of him dating Brooke. But surely that was because it was Brooke, right?

“You can talk!” he chides gently  
“I’m not a pro ball player!” she protests.

“No. You’re a successful, warm, funny, smart, gorgeous woman ... and you should be out there too.”

They look at each other, and both laugh.

“It’s just …” she starts, then shrugs it away.

“Yeah, I know. So … Jules will be fine,” he says, changing tack. “You okay now?”

“Still a bit spooked. She’s so little still and I’ve never had a hospital scare with her. Even a minor one like this …”

“I wouldn’t call it minor. It’s all still scary. For what’s it worth, I think you did great. No hysteria.”

“It’s worth a lot,” she says sincerely. “And having you here helps. I really appreciate it.”

“Ssh. You know I’ll always be here for you, and Jules. You’re my two favourite girls.”

“Yeah. About that comment to the nurse …?”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re my girls, aren’t you?”

“I guess we are. If you’re our guy?”  
  
“I’m your guy,” he confirms. “Now you; try and get some sleep.”

“I bet I can’t. Hey, Nate?”  
“Mmm?”  
“I’m sorry I was a bitch earlier tonight.”

“What was that about anyway?” he asks mildly. “I’m damned if I know what I did.”

“I don’t think I know myself.” She really wasn’t ready to formulate her thoughts on that, let alone articulate them.

“Well, if sexy and hot is nostalgic me, then that was vintage you; Peyton _Marie_ Sawyer, but ...”  
“It’s okay,” she reassures him, “it won’t happen again.”

She doesn’t think she’ll sleep but she drifts off in his arms while he lies awake, feeling her chest rise and fall, feeling her breath whisper across his arm, and a realization slowly creeps over him; what he wants more than anything is to _really_ be her guy, in every way.


	12. “So now that you’ve made your confession, can I kiss you now?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her answer is just a smile, so he fans his fingers out behind her head and pulls her in, kissing her carefully but confidently. It’s tender and sweet, but full of promise.

After a couple of hours, she stirs, unwraps herself from his arms and gets up carefully to go to the adjacent bathroom, where she washes off her makeup. Returning to the room, she thinks he’s still asleep but when she nears the bed, she sees his eyes are open.

“Hey,” she says, resting the hell of her hand on the dip under his collar bone for a moment. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Nope.”

“I really shouldn’t have done that,” she says a little self-consciously.

“What? Go to the bathroom?”

“No,” she sighs, wrinkling her nose a little. “Look in the mirror while in there. I’m a wreck.”

“C’mere, Your Craziness,” he chuckles, shifting onto his back and gesturing her back to the bed.

“Oh, that’s nice!” she teases lightly. “Tell the worried, so-tired-she’s-ugly Mama Bear that she’s also insane!” She sits on the edge of the bed and pokes him in the chest.

He pulls her forward so she’s lying partly across him and gives her a big warm hug, kissing her temple.

“You _are_ crazy,” he says, “if you think you’re anything but gorgeous.”

“That’s very sweet, kind sir, but …”  
“No buts,” he chastens. “What did I say to you that very first day we met again?”  
“At the sitting?” she asks, pulling back to look at him for a moment before tucking herself into his chest again. “You said many, many things to me that day.”

“I told you you’re breathtaking,” he says gently. “Remember?”

“I don’t think I do.”

“I was going to say, _again,_ that you need to learn to take a compliment. But clearly you need to learn to hear them first!”

“I can take a compliment!” she protests.

“Sure. About what a great gallery you run, or what a great Mom you are, or what an amazing friend you are, and you’re even getting better about people complimenting your own art …”

“See! I told you!”  
“But not about your looks.”

She pulls back and looks at him again, head tilted, curious about his statement.

“Do you not see it?” he asks.

She blushes again. “Well … I mean … I know I’m not _bad_ looking. And I’m lucky to be naturally slim. But … I dunno.”

“Peyton, seriously?” he protests, his forehead creasing into a disbelieving frown. “You were _always_ good looking. Let’s face it; assy teenaged me just wouldn’t have dated you if you weren’t. But now? I _meant_ it when I said breathtaking. And you … you just don’t have a clue.”

“I just don’t …” she doesn’t finish the sentence, sighing and shrugging instead.

“Think it’s important?”

“That,” she agrees. “But ... I mean … what did my looks ever get me?”

“Apart from a pile of heartbreak?” he asks knowingly. “Is that what you mean?”

“I guess so,” she says quietly.

“And that started with me,” he suggests matter of factly.

“Nathan, that’s not what I …”

“I know, I know,” he assures her. “But it’s true. And it … I wish …”  
She puts her flattened hand over his mouth.

“Nate, don’t. We said we wouldn’t do all of that. And honestly? You’re just … you’re pretty much my nearest and dearest now. I don’t want you to keep looking back with regrets. You’ve kept all the best bits of that guy.”

He looks at her searchingly, then shrugs her comment off with a nonchalant retort.

“Yeah, the hot bod. I know.”

“And the smirk,” she laughs. “Don’t forget the Scott smirk.”

They chuckle together a little before she continues.

“No, it’s more than that. It’s like ... you’re using your powers for good now.”

“Powers?” he repeats, a little confused, though he has to admit he already likes the sound of this.

“Yeah. You’ve always had this amazing ability to read people. You used to use it to pick the girl most likely to … um … let’s say most likely to succumb to your Scott charms. And to score _on the court_ as well.”

He shakes his head, smiling, but looking a bit sheepish.

“But now you use that ability as a strong leader,” she continues, “and an incredibly intuitive friend. It’s … kind of awesome really.”

He shrugs dismissively.

“You see!” she says triumphantly, “ _you’re_ not taking the compliment either. _You_ can take it if it’s about your looks, or your ability on the court, but not if it’s about who you _are.”_

“Alright,” he concedes. “Fair call. I have an idea, then.”

“What?”

“I’m going to compliment your looks and you’re going to accept graciously, or you have to repeat the words about yourself.”

“You have to do the same,” she counters, pushing her forefinger into his chest a little for emphasis.

“Deal,” he agrees. “So …do you think part of the reason why Julian was such a pivotal person for you was because he was gay? So, your looks weren’t a factor?”

“Oh, he surrounded himself with what he called _ze bootiful peoples_.”

“But it wasn’t about sex appeal or the two of you … wanting each other.”

“Yeah, I guess. Or maybe he was just the right teacher at the right time. Anyway … c’mon, Scott, lay these beautiful complimentary words on me. I’m tough. I can do this.”

Somehow during this conversation, her leg has hooked over his and her hair is flowing over his shoulder, her face is resting on his chest. He draws in a breath, getting that distinctly Peyton scent from her.

“I know there’s this whole beauty from within thing,” he begins carefully, painfully aware that he’s not the Scott family member with the reputation for beautiful and precisely chosen words, “and it’s true, of course, and maybe that’s part of why you’re so … you’re just so giving to everyone around you. And do everything with such integrity and with your _all_. I think … I _know_ … and I’m telling _you_ ; you’re _gorgeous_ , Peyton. Every guy in the room tonight thought it too, and actually, probably some of girls as well! Spectacularly, breathtakingly, gracefully gorgeous. And I know part of the package is that you don’t really know it, or work it, and that makes you even more gorgeous. You’re so … unconscious about it. And I’m not saying you should change. I’d just really love to see you accept a well-intentioned, genuine compliment about your looks with the same grace you show about everything else, because ... I think you’re beautiful, Peyton. Truly.”

She has tears in her eyes that he doesn’t see, her head being tucked under his chin, resting on his chest.

“We had a deal, Sawyer,” he cautions.

She nods, but still doesn’t speak so he pulls back to look at her.

“Tears? That’s a bit extreme,” he smiles.

“Thank you,” she says simply, albeit it with a wobbly voice.

“That’s my girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Actually, it really was,” she chuckles. “Alright, your turn.”

“Oh boy,” he says rolling his eyes comically. “Lay it on me.”

“You … you just make me so _proud_ , Nathan. I know what you’ve dealt with, I know what … and _who_ … you’ve overcome and it’s just the best thing ever, to know this amazing guy you’ve become. I always saw it, that potential, and you’ve achieved all of it and more. You’re _so_ strong and yet not insensitive, and you’re so intuitive. And the way you are with Coop’s kids and with my baby girl; you’re the best example of a good man I could give her. I’m so, _so_ proud of you. You know; you’re kind of my super hero, Nathan Scott.”

Wide-eyed, he opens his mouth then promptly closes it again.

“You were going to deflect and say something smart assy then weren’t you?” she laughs, and he has to nod. He was. Something about having the body for a super hero’s tights and a cape, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead in them.

“Harder than you thought?” she prompts, and he nods again. “Just say thank you, you numbskull,” she laughs.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I think we should try and get a bit more sleep,” he says quietly. “It’s still really early.”

She traces circles over his chest and stomach with her fingernail and soon he’s asleep, and she lies gazing at him, still trying to make sense of the peace and calm she feels around him at moments like this, and the intensity of her reaction to that text from Brooke. She suspects this is the beginning, or maybe beyond the beginning, of that _fall in love properly_ on her list. And she’s really not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. She might not be the frightened, anxiety-ridden girl she used to be, but falling for a Scott boy? That’s dangerous territory for her; it always was.

She wakes up first, or thinks she does, and can’t resist laying her palm against his sculptured cheek. She’s surprised, and yet somehow not, when he turns into her hand and kisses her palm, his eyes still closed. His bottom arm is already around her and now he runs it up her back and twists his fingers into her hair at the back of her neck, while his other hand comes to rest on her hip.

“Hey,” he whispers, eyes still closed.

“Hey, yourself.”

She gazes at him until it almost hurts, then closes her eyes. Just then, he opens his, gazing at her for a few moments before his eyes too close again.

“What’s that show you girls watch with all the ridiculously good-looking doctors?” he asks her, his fingers burning heat spots into the skin near her hip bone.

“Grey’s Anatomy?”

“Lots of steamy sex in the on-call room?”

“That’s the one.”

He kisses her palm again, his eyelashes dark against his cheekbones.

“We’re not having steamy sex in the on-call room, Nate.”

He opens his eyes to meet hers, the connection instantly tense and electric.

“No,” he agrees. “But in a minute, I’m going to kiss you. And sometime - really soon - I’m taking you out on a proper date, after which I’ll kiss you goodnight so … so _thoroughly_ that it’ll curl your toes. And several dates after that we’ll have steamy second first time sex … somewhere yet to be determined.”

“That sounds …”

He arches his brow at her. “Cocky? Risky? Potentially disastrous?”

“All of the above, but also kind of … perfect,” she adds with a shy flush on her cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I should probably confess something.”

“Really? Right before I kiss you?” he teases.

“That whole being a bitch thing last night?” she says, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I … um … I thought you were starting to date Brooke.”

“Ooooo-kay,” he almost sniggers, his look of total shock soothing any last vestiges of doubt she might have had, “I have no idea how you got to _that_ , but no. I love Brooke to pieces, I really do, but dating her? That would be … like dating myself in a dress. Not so appealing, really.”

“Good,” she replies, her eyes alight. “I’m glad to hear it. I … didn’t find the thought very appealing either.”

“Jealous, huh?” he asks, looking rather smug.

“No comment.”

“So now that you’ve made your confession, can I kiss you now?”

Her answer is just a smile, so he fans his fingers out behind her head and pulls her in, kissing her carefully but confidently. It’s tender and sweet, but full of promise. It would be so easy to turn it into something hot and passionate and searching and urgent. It’s a spine-tingling mix of the teenagers they were when they shared their first kiss together and the people they are now and, as he eases back just a little, their lips smile against each other’s.

Just as he’s about to repeat that kiss, there’s a knock on the door and the nurse pops her head in to tell them Juliet is showing signs of waking up.


	13. “Every time we try to actually spend some time together …”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just before they go through the gate, she stops and calls his name. He turns and waits.  
> “How?” she asks.  
> “How?” he repeats blankly, no idea what she’s asking.  
> “That thing you just said you really want to do. How would you do it?”  
> He laughs, then tips his head to one side and rakes his eyes over her in a look that just about has her knees buckling. “Just like I did the night before I turned 16,” he says with a smirk. “But more so.”  
> “Oh,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye, “that was a good one.”  
> “Just good? Maybe you need to think about that during the flight,” he teases with another of those amazing smirks of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer to get this chapter up. By and large the rest of this is done, but a few tweaks are required and it's a hectic time of year, so updates might take a bit. Definitely won't leave it incomplete though!

It’s a longish day at the hospital. Juliet is bouncing back nicely, as kids tend to, and Larry swings by with a change of clothes for Peyton, laughing when he sees her in hospital scrubs. He offers to do a second trip to get some gear for Nathan, but the brunette responds that if Larry could just give him a lift home, he’ll shower and change and come back to keep the Sawyer girls company until Jules is discharged. Peyton demurs, of course, saying she’ll be fine if he doesn’t come back but he silences her with a two-pronged attack; a doleful look plus the promise of good coffee and some decent food in hand when he returns.

By the time Juliet is discharged and they get away, it’s late afternoon. They stop on the way back to Larry’s to get some homey chicken soup from a lovely little deli that Peyton discovered not too long ago. He keeps Juliet company while Peyton heats it up, then reluctantly says he needs to get home and pack.

“Pack?” Peyton asks, somewhat vaguely, the last twenty four hours or so beginning to catch up with her.

“Yeah,” he says almost sadly, “I …”  
“Oh my God! Nathan!” she practically squawks, her face suddenly alive with excitement. “You got the commentary gig! Why didn’t you say something?”

“I …”  
“When did they call you?” she fires at him.

“When you were being weird with me last night?” he teases.

“Was that just last night?” she sighs. “Feels like forever ago.”

“Yeah. So … I have to head out early tomorrow,” he tells her, then lifts his hands a little helplessly. “For a whole week.”  
“By the time you get back, we’ll be back in LA,” she acknowledges, now understanding his subdued demeanor of the last few minutes.

“We’ll …” he begins.

“Phone. Text.”  
“Work it out,” he agrees. “So … _walk_ me out?” he asks, tipping his head to the side and indicating the hall that leads to the front door, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Sure,” she smiles. Yeah. She wants him to kiss her too.

“Bye Nathan,” Jules chirps, looking up from her bowl of soup and plate of toast fingers. “Thanks for staying with us until I felt better.”

“Kiddo, you are more than welcome,” he grins, stepping to her chair and bending down to kiss her cheek and ruffle her curls. “You take care of your Mom for me, okay? I have to go on a trip for a little while and you’ll be back home in LA when I get back.”

“Oh,” she says, “I hope your trip is good. But we’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

He walks down the hallway closely behind Peyton, so closely she can feel the warmth coming off him, even though he’s doing nothing other than resting his hands at her hips and his chin on her shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of her neck.

They’re barely at the door when he’s turning her into his arms and hauling her against his chest, breathing into her hair for a moment. His fingers entwine in it while his thumbs rest either side of her face, the pads of them making gentle strokes, then he pulls back and just … gazes at her for a long, long moment. As if he’s starstruck. He kind of is.

“So … thanks?” she whispers.

“Mmm-mmmm,” he protests quietly, shaking his head.

“No thanks?”

“Not required. Just kiss me.”

She laughs and stands on tip toes, brushes her lips over his.

“Kisses as payment for services rendered?” she teases.

“Kisses because you’re sexy as hell and I really don’t want to leave you right now.”  
They stand and stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, then, just as his mouth finally touches hers, their reverie is broken with a half dozen fast, heavy footsteps up the front stairs and a key in the lock.

Nathan steps back just as the door opens to reveal Larry.

“You’re back!” the older man exclaims, clearly relieved. “How’s my granddaughter?”

“Eating soup,” Peyton says. “She’s great. Dad, I … thank you so …”  
“Nope!” Larry grins, holding up his palm. “It’s my job, looking after you two.” He stops and looks from his daughter to the man beside her. “Maybe it’s a job share, these days?” he muses, before loping down the hallway.

Nathan steps back, tips his head back against the wall.

“Like high school all over again,” he quips, looking sideways at her.

“I … Nathan … if …” she stammers, dragging her hand through her hair and looking somewhat defeated.  
“It’s _not_ too hard,” he interrupts. “I mean … it will be. I know that. But you? You’re worth it.”  
“Yeah?” she says, eyebrow arched.

“I mean it, Peyt. I … there’s no way on earth I’m not giving this the best shot I can. We’re not kids anymore and I’m not doing the _does she doesn’t she_ shit anymore. I ... have to know.”  
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“So … I’ll call you from the road?”

“You better, buster!”

She’s not long tucked Jules into bed that night, and has just collapsed on the couch, slouching with a glass of red wine, when her phone jars her upright. She notes the caller ID and sighs.

“Paul. Hi.”

“Peyton,” Julian’s father greets her, and she immediately relaxes. She was expecting him to launch into a demanding interrogation as to why the _Ravens_ movie was stalled, but his tone is nothing but warm. “How’s my granddaughter? When are you bringing her back to the West Coast?”

“Actually,” Peyton says, “I’m glad you called. It saves me calling you, and Pippa too. Juliet is fine – _absolutely_ _100% fine_ \- but you should know we spent last night in the hospital.”  
“Why?” he demands. “What happened?”

“Kid stuff; ear infection plus a virus equals a high fever. She was a little out of sorts earlier, not her usual cheery self, and she somehow managed to fall and bump her head too …”  
“Her head!? Peyton, did you …?”  
“Yes, Paul,” she jumps in, allaying the grandparental fear. “Everything. Imaging. All the tests and bells and whistles you would want for your granddaughter. I promise; she had excellent care and she’s fine. She’s asleep or I’d put her on to prove it.”

“You don’t need to prove it,” he says, calm now. “I do trust you. You know that. I know you’d never put her at risk. Listen, don’t call Pippa; I’ll let her know. I imagine you’ll be inundated with gift baskets and flowers shortly afterwards.”

“She does go a little overboard on the care package front,” Peyton laughs. “But we’ll be back within a week so gift baskets would be very much wasted. Anyway, what’s up, Paul?”

“I need to ask you something,” he says, never one to pussyfoot around, “but I want to preface it by saying I am not in any way applying pressure.”

“Ahhh. I’ve been expecting this call,” she chuckles knowingly. “You want to talk about the _Ravens_ movie?”

“I do,” he confirms. “Your man Lucas …”  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” she interrupts, her hand raising up in emphasis as if they were standing face to face. “He is not _my_ anything! I’ve seen him over the course of one weekend since our relationship ended years ago. That weekend involved a funeral, and a couple of good friends who needed my support, so Lucas Scott really wasn’t my focus. Oh … and _your_ man Lucas spent a good chunk of the day after funeral being an absolute ass.”

“Okay, calm down,” Paul laughs. “Geeze, I’m having flashbacks to a very pregnant, very feisty, up in arms Peyton marching into my office and telling me to get my crap together and mend fences with my kid.”

“Which I was 100% right about,” she points out.

“Indeed, you were,” he agrees easily. “And I’ll forever be grateful for the time you gave me with him as a result. And for Juliet. I’m not calling to give you a hard time, Peyton. I just want to make a movie. I want to make _this_ movie. And I’d just like to find out if there’s any way I can do that.”  
“Well, my understanding is everyone’s given the green light, so …”  
“Everyone except you,” he corrects her. “You gave a red light.”  
“Hmmm,” she hums. Seems like Lucas Scott is still the master of twisting her words and using them against her. Or trying to. “That’s not quite true, Paul. I guess … I guess I gave an amber light.”  
“That’s not what …”  
“Yeah. Not what Lucas said?”  
“Why don’t you tell me what _you_ said?” Paul asks with clear interest.

“All I said was that my name needs to be changed. Just like I told your son when he was planning. I’m pretty sure you have Julian’s notes, Paul.”  
“I do. So … that’s all?”  
“Yes, that’s all.”  
“Do you mind me asking why?”  
“Because _I_ would like to make the decisions about how and when Jules finds out about all that drama in my pre-LA life. I know she’s too young now to touched by it but imagine if some stupid teacher or parent made the connection once she’s at school. I mean … adoption, stalker, being shot. It …”  
“Say no more, my dear. I understand entirely.”

“You do?” she asks, a little doubt creeping into her tone.  
“I absolutely do. Let’s just say, that’s not quite how our friend Mr Scott presented your objections.”  
“I … Paul, I’m _not_ trying to stop the movie. I … Lucas and I are not at all close, not anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’d want him to miss out on this opportunity.”  
“He won’t. I assure you of that. We’ll proceed.”  
“And you’ll change my name?”  
“We will.”

“Thank you, Paul.”  
“Not at all. Can I ask a favour?”

“Sure.”  
“Call me tomorrow when Juliet’s awake? I’d love to have a chat with her.”  
“Of course.”

“Well then, I imagine you’d like to get off the phone and enjoy some peace, so I’ll say good night. And thank you, Peyton.”  
“For what?”

“Just because.”

His week on the tour as a commentator is phenomenal. He misses her, he misses _them_ , but it’s new and exciting and the feedback he gets carries him through.

He’s been playing ball since he was in grade school, competing since middle school, the best on the team since Junior High and at High School (yes, he’ll admit, maybe, that he wasn’t best _by a mile_ for the last two years at High School, as he had been before) and that knowledge and experience shows. And he’s a current NBA player; the guys that have the privilege (and he does think of it as a privilege, after all he’s been through) to be on court during the playoffs? He knows them. He’s played against them, with some of them. His insight and his love for this crazy game shine through in his on-air remarks.

He makes a few wry predictions and asides _off air_ and his fellow commentators encourage him to do that on-air too. He’s not so sure; asks if being that irreverent is a good idea. He’s convinced when the third person tells him the same thing and, when he lets go his dry humour and slightly sarcastic tone every so often, the response is amazing. Nathan Scott is clearly building a following off the court as well as on it. And he _loves_ it. He especially loves knowing that even when his body gets to the point where it simply won’t indulge another season (not in the near future, he hopes), he won’t have to give up the game. Life after playing, will still have options – plenty of them.

But, when he gets home, back to that awful shoebox of a rented apartment, he _really_ misses her. Of course, he’s still so thrilled that they got to here, but the problem is she’s _there – in LA –_ and he’s _here, in Charlotte._ It’s palpable, how much he wants her to be with him. How much he wants to stand with her folded into his arms, to breath in her scent, to kiss her temple, yeah … to kiss those amazing lips of her. To wake up with her taking up way more than her fair of his bed. Like she used to. He can’t really think too much about everything between the kiss and the waking up. If he does … it’s almost unbearable.

When she tells him, almost shyly, at the end of a long phone call that she has news, that she’s flying across the country to him (well, to discuss the next season’s merchandising plan with Bobcats’ management but … details …) he punches the air then tells her off in no uncertain terms for not leading with the best part.

“The best part?” she flirts.

“You better be staying on for a few days!” he demands.

“A week,” she laughs.

“Good. And you’d better be bringing my other favourite Sawyer girl with you.”

“I think she’d resent me for the rest of her life it I didn’t!” Peyton chuckles.

“She misses me?” he asks, pleased to a ridiculous degree.

“ _So_ much. It’s … it makes it even harder though.”  
“What? Why?” he protests. “Why would it be harder because she likes me?”  
“No! I didn’t mean that. It’s that … she’s constantly talking about you.”  
“That’s bad, why exactly?”  
“Nathan …” she sighs.  
“What?”  
“I … I miss you like crazy.” she says quietly. “Frankly, it’s _ridiculous_ how much I miss …” her voice tails off, perhaps just a tiny bit tearful.  
“And Jules asking after me and talking about me makes it worse?” he completes, understanding at last. “I … shit. It’s … so hard for me. Must be even harder with that … which is exactly what you were saying,” he laughs wryly.  
“It’s okay,” she interrupts. “I’m fine. I … it’d be truly awful if she _didn’t_ like you.”

“Is it even possible for a Sawyer girl to not like me?” he kids her, pleased when her laugh rings out.

“You’re impossible.”  
“Impossibly good looking? Impossibly talented? Impossibly sexy? Impossible good at rocking your world in b…”  
“Whoa,” she stops him. “Save it for when you can actually do something about it, huh?”

“So … phone sex is off the cards then?”

“A decent kiss would do me, right now,” she responds wistfully.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “That would be …”

“So, buy me dinner next Wednesday, Scott, and we’ll see about that kissing, shall we?”

“You have a deal, Sawyer.”

It’s ridiculous; all of it: how he counts down to the day his girls fly in; how he counts down the hours until he knows she’ll be finished with her meetings; how he calls her and tells her he’s picking her up in an hour and a half and she’d better dress sexy and bring an overnight bag; how his entire chest tightens when she laughs huskily and tells him she has an outfit all picked out and she hopes he still likes black lace; how his mind can’t help but take a rapid tour down memory lane to the last time he saw her – a _long_ time ago - in black lace ( _just_ black lace and _nothing but_ black lace); how that memory assails him again while he’s showering … to the point where he has to brace himself against the tiles and … _take care of_ the effect those memories have on his body.

He’s still thinking of her as he dries himself. He’s missed her so much and he’s seeing her in a half hour. And yes, he did book an incredibly nice restaurant in a very upscale boutique hotel, and no, he is not bringing her back to his awful shoebox of an apartment. Yes, he does quite like the fact that when he was booking a private table in the restaurant and a luxury room and gave his name, the hotel manager immediately upgraded him to their best suite. Yes, he does very much like the fact that he will be holding her in his arms, breathing in the scent of her, kissing those lips, waking up with her.

And yeah, he thinks as he tucks the damp towel over the rail and stretches his arms out for a moment, appraising himself in the mirror, she’s so close now that thinking about the time – _the hours_ – between the kissing and the waking up is something he can cope with. Reacquainting himself with her body, still so slender but curvier than the last time he had the privilege (not that he was wise enough _then_ to recognize that is was indeed a privilege) of touching her, kissing her, making her eyes widen and her breath hitch and her lips purse and those little moans that he remembered.

He can’t help but chuckle a little when his thoughts of tending to _her_ gorgeous body make his own react all over again. God, he wants her so much. Still, he thinks as he grips the towel rail with one hand and himself with the other, sliding his palm and curled fingers to and fro a few times, then flicking his thumb over the tip … still … she’s so damned sexy that’s maybe it’s just as well he’s taking the edge off (again). He wants to _thrill_ her. He wants to take all of those hours and make her fly … over and over. He wants to be the most patient, attentive lover she’s ever known. He wants to last the distance, to put her first in a way he never did all those years ago. He wants _them_ to last the distance.

He looks good, he thinks, as he pulls a tailored jacket on over his charcoal grey shirt. Jeans, sure, but smart; perfect fit around the ass. Collared shirt. Nice boots. He checks his watch as he opens the door of the Range Rover. Perfect. Fifteen minutes to get there.

And then his phone rings. And it really is ridiculous.

“Hi,” she laughs breathlessly almost before he’s even taken on board that she’s picked up the call. “I’m running a little late. Please tell me you are too.”

“Peyton,” he says, hearing the strangled sound of his own voice.

“Nathan?” she says, her laughter dying instantly. “What’s going on?”

Of course, she can tell from just one word from him that something is up. Of course, her own voice is immediately full of concern.

“My Mom just called,” he says flatly.  
“Is she okay?”

“Not really.”

“What’s going on?” she asks, her concern readily apparent.

“I …” he pauses.

There really is only one way to say it though, and she’ll know in just the blink of an eye all of the history and hurt and worry that will come with what he’s about to tell her.

“My father got out.”  
“What?” she almost shrieks, then immediately softens her tone. “ _Nathan._ When?”

“A week or so ago,” he explains before he continues with the rest of it, with the reason for his call to her, with why their so-anticipated dinner isn’t going to happen. Again. “She … he’s been phoning her. He said he’s going to turn up at her house.”  
“In Tree Hill?”

“Yeah. I …”  
“Nathan why didn’t you tell me?” she asks gently, warmly, patiently.  
“I only just found out; I wouldn’t have kept that from you, Peyton,” he assures her. “ _She_ didn’t tell _me_.”

“Why wouldn’t she …?”  
“She knew you were here. She knew how much I needed to see you. I …”  
“Nathan, you have to go,” she interrupts again, needing him to be confident that she supports him and understands. “You have to make sure she’s safe.”

“I know,” he agrees. “I … that’s why I’m calling. I … God, I’m so sorry, babe. I …”  
“Nathan,” she soothes. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay. Your Mom needs you. I … I just …”  
“What?”

“Promise me you’ll be careful?” she pleads softly. “I … I remember the shit he used to pull with you. I remember how …” her voice trails off and he smiles to himself. He had no idea at the time, how much her support of him - when they were kids - was really worth. He knows now. And, even better, he feels it now. He still has it. It’s a miracle of sorts.

“You remember how afraid I could get?” he prompts.  
“Yeah. Even though you tried to hide it.”

“I’m a grown man now,” he says indulgently. “He doesn’t scare me anymore.”  
“He’s still your father,” she cautions. “That ... makes it harder to keep your head and …”  
“I’ll be careful,” he cuts in, his tone soft. “I promise.”  
“Get a lawyer.”  
“Because a lawyer can punch his lights out better than I can?” he laughs, poking fun, gently, at her feisty attitude.

“Don’t _do_ that! Don’t risk being charged, Nathan! Oh my God, it’s like being back in high school and trying to convince you not to do something stupid that would get you benched!”

He laughs at that, mutters something about her apparently being more effective at calming him down now.

“Good. So … go. Take care of your Mom. Tell her I’m thinking of her. And … _please_ take care. You know the odd cut and scrape when you come off the court may be sexy, but not if it comes from your dickhead of a fath … no … hey!” she interrupts herself as she has a brilliant idea. “You know who you should take?”  
“No way! I’m not dragging you into this,” he counters firmly, loving that she’s so supportive of him, so worried about him, so concerned about his Mom too, but like hell will he actually consider putting her in the middle of this.

“Huh! I could take Dan Scott!” she teases. “No … you should take Cooper with you.”  
“I don’t need …”  
“Nathan,” she interrupts with a gentle, solicitous tone. “Take Coop with you.”  
“But Bron …”  
“I’ll stop by and spend some time with Bron and the boys. Jules and I both will. Please? Ask him? You know he’ll want to help. He always loathed Dan.”

The two women watch on indulgently while the daughter of one and the sons of the other hare around the backyard. Peyton chuckles when Jules ducks under the arms of one of the boys, escaping just as he’s about to tag her.

“I love seeing her have so much fun with other kids,” she says warmly, then takes a sip of the lovely pinot gris Bron’s poured for them to enjoy in the mild late afternoon.

“Yeah?”

“She’s an only child,” Peyton expands, “so much of her life is with adults. I mean … she’s fine at her preschool but it’s part time and … it’s just great to see that even with just that, she’s better socialized than I was.”

“ _Any_ kids?” Bron asks with interest.

“Sorry?”

“It’s good seeing her with _any_ kids or … _these_ kids?”

“Your kids are awesome, but you know that,” Peyton laughs. “You really don’t need to go fishing for compliments!”

“No, I mean ... well, yeah, they are ... but I mean specifically _these_ kids because they’re family?”

“Feels almost like that, yeah,” Peyton grins.

“Good. But I meant ... because they _are_ family – or will be – _officially_.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and that stud of a nephew-in-law of mine is what I’m talking about,” Bron replies, pointing her finger at Peyton to emphasise her point.

“I ... is there such a thing as a nephew-in …?”  
“Don’t try and weasel out of answering me!”

“I … but …”

“You two are just … I dunno’ … insanely perfect. So, so freaking sexy …”  
Peyton rolls her eyes and sighs.

“Or … not?” Bron asks, eyebrow raised.

“We’re … I’m in LA, he’s here,” Peyton explains. “Every time we try to actually spend some time together …”

“Something dramatic happens?” Bron guesses. “Like Deb needing him to help her send Dan packing?”

“No … it’s fine. I mean, yeah, like Deb, but it’s really fine. I certainly don’t object to Nathan helping out his Mom, it’s just …”

“You really want some time with your guy?” Bron completes with an understanding nod.

“It would be nice,” Peyton says wistfully.

“Or … naughty?” Bron teases, eyebrows raised again.

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Peyton mutters. “It’s ...”  
“It’s?” Bron prods.

“It’s … weeks since we even kissed.”

“Ahh,” Bron utters sympathetically, “so all that _electricity_ around you two is actually honest to God in the flesh UST?”

“UST?”

“Unresolved sexual tension?”

Peyton exhales harshly and her hair flutters.

“Yup.”

“Poor baby,” Bron chuckles as she reaches for her wine glass. “Tried phone sex?”

Peyton, having just taken a sip of her wine, splutters.

“That’s a no?” the brunette snorts. “I really didn’t pick you for a prude!”

“I’m _not_! I just …”  
“Yes?”  
“I dunno … the real in the flesh version might be nice before the …”  
“3D before 3G?” Bron quips, making Peyton laugh loudly.

“Tell you what,” the brunette continues, “if there’s ever a night when the only thing preventing you two … getting there is childcare … I’m your woman.”

“Oh, it’s ...”  
“I mean it,” Bron insists. “I love my boys, I really do, but a little girl time, for me and Jules would be great, and if it means a little alone time for you and Nathan …”  
“I … I will remember that.”

**A week later**

“Hey,” she breathes into her phone. “We’re at the airport.”  
“I know. Me too.”  
“What? Where are you going now?”

“No, I’m _here_ ,” he clarifies. “Where are you?”

“Heading for the departure gate.”

“You’ve got ... what? Fifteen minutes?”  
“Yeah. About that. Nathan, I can’t believe you’re …” and there he is. In front of her. “… here,” she finishes.

“Nathan!” cries her daughter, launching herself at him and hugging his legs tightly.

“Hey Munchkin. How’re my two favourite girls?” he asks, picking Juliet up and kissing her cheek, but watching Peyton intently over her shoulder, his blue eyes dark with meaning.

“How’s your Mommy?” Juliet asks innocently, aware that Nathan had gone to help his Mom with a tricky problem but not aware of the circumstances. “Is she okay now?”  
“Yeah, sweetheart. She’s much better now. Thank you so much for asking.”

“We’re nearly getting on the plane,” she continues, happily.

“Looking forward to seeing your Aunt P again? And your friends?”  
“Yes. But I’ll miss you,” Juliet says sweetly. “And my Grandpa Larry.”

“I bet you will. I’ll miss you too.”  
“And Mommy? Will you miss her?”

“I sure will,” he answers, taking another long look at Peyton.

“Then you need to give Mommy a hug too, silly!” Juliet says with a giggle.

“Well, I _would,”_ he says, jiggling her up and down, “but I seem to have my arms full of … you!”

“Oh. I can get down then,” she says, wriggling out of his arms and taking his hand, extending it towards her mother’s. “Hug!” she demands.

He grins, pulling Peyton in and wrapping his arms around her shoulders so that hers slip comfortable around his waist.

“I think your kid’s on my side,” he says quietly against her cheek.

“I think my kid’s Mom is on your side too,” she responds, pulling back to look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry it took longer than I thought,” he says sincerely, gaze searching hers. “I almost missed you. I mean … I almost missed seeing you before you get on your flight. There’s no _almost_ about whether I missed _you_.”

“This last week’s been kind of a disaster, right? But …”  
“It’s how it’s gonna be, I think,” he agrees. “You worried about that?”

“God, I should be right? Me, a Scott and long distance?”

“No,” he says very firmly. “It’s completely different.”

“How?” she asks curiously. She thinks … feels … _knows_ it’s different too. But she’s interested (invested) in his take on it.  
“You’ll have to be here often for work, for a start, once the season kicks off. And …”  
“And?”

“ _We’re_ not teenagers,” he says firmly, fixing his gaze on her. “And _I’m_ not _him_.”

Her response is one of those sudden, blinding come-from-nowhere smiles that make the room light up. And his heart.

Jules tugs at her mother’s sleeve, asking if they can go sit by the window and watch the planes, which of course is fine. The girl is enthralled for a few minutes, giving Peyton and Nathan a precious, brief window to chat quietly about what’s going on with Deb, and how Peyton’s last few days have been.

He tells her that between he and Cooper, they dealt to Dan. He doesn’t say how, and she doesn’t want to know. Not right now anyway.

He tells her he’s staying with Bron and the boys for a few days as he’s left Cooper in Tree Hill to help Deb pack up.

“That’s a good idea,” she says, her palm rubbing over his forearm soothingly. “Good for Deb to get out of Tree Hill for a while. Will she stay with Cooper for a while?”

“Until she finds a place, yeah.”  
“Until she … what?”  
“It’s not for just a while,” he says, sounding pleased, “she’s putting the house up for sale and moving to Charlotte permanently.”

He tells her he brought a bunch of stuff from his Mom’s place back with him and will take it to Cooper’s place after he leaves the airport. He doesn’t tell her that one of those items is a square canvas. A black canvas. A canvas that he still has no idea why he kept it years ago, but that he knows belongs with another three that he bought not so long ago.

He doesn’t tell her about the conversation he had with his mother when she passed him in the driveway as he tucked that canvas carefully in to his Range Rover. A conversation that made it very, _very_ clear to him that if he’d had even the slightest doubt about his Mom liking Peyton and being supportive of their relationship …. well, he hadn’t had any such doubt, but if he _had_ , Deb’s words in the driveway would have removed those doubts from his head immediately.

Words about him: _you’re a good man, Nathan, a good son … a great son; I’m lucky to have you and you’re lucky to have Peyton; you know? You deserve this; you deserve her_.

Words about Peyton: _beautiful; kind; accomplished; fabulous mother; she makes you … light up, Nathan _and, finally and with a cheeky smile, _she’s a keeper … this time._

He does tell Peyton he missed her. She shyly smiles and whispers that she missed him too.

But way too soon, the flight is being called and he’s walking his _two favourite girls_ to the gate.

Juliet demands another hug and asks Nathan if he will phone her sometimes to say good night and he promises her that he will, whenever he doesn’t have a game.

When he puts her down, Peyton is standing, hand on hip, eyebrow arched.

“My turn yet?” she flirts.

He shakes his head and hauls her against him, one large hand at her hip and the other at the back of her head.

“Just so you know,” he murmurs next to her ear, “I’m not kissing you ‘cos I know I can’t; not in front of Jules. Not yet. But I really want to.”

It’s his _not yet_ , that makes her believe, even more, that her faith in this is warranted. He’s looking ahead to a time when it will be perfectly okay for her daughter to see them being … romantic, couple-y. She’s already looking forward to that time herself. And even though they’ve really shared just that one kiss so far, in a hospital on-call room, she doesn’t feel even the slightest bit crazy for feeling this way. They’ve spent months building up their _friendship_ , but somehow it feels like they’ve been heading to here all along. From the first time she told him to _get over here and hug her_ , and he told her she was _breathtaking_.

He couldn’t explain it if he tried, but holding her for those few seconds - having his arms wrapped right around her and his chin resting on her shoulder, with his lips by her ear - makes something inside of him, that he honestly didn’t even know was out of whack, settle into the right spot. And he won’t let her go, not until she makes him. Fair enough, right? It’s her getting on the plane after all. He really wouldn’t mind if she stayed.

As she pulls away, knowing she has to be the one to do so, he brushes his lips across her temple and squeezes her hand before he lets her slip it away from his.

Just before they go through the gate, she stops and calls his name. He turns and waits.

“How?” she asks.

“How?” he repeats blankly, no idea what she’s asking.  
“That thing you just said you really want to do. How would you do it?”

He laughs, then tips his head to one side and rakes his eyes over her in a look that just about has her knees buckling. “Just like I did the night before I turned 16,” he says with a smirk. “But more so.”

“Oh,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye, “that was a good one.”

“Just _good_? Maybe you need to think about that during the flight,” he teases with another of those amazing smirks of his.

And she finds that she does. Jules is occupied with colouring and listening to music and Peyton’s mind slips back to the night she went over to the Scott residence to deliver Nathan’s sixteenth birthday present. The week before, he’d had a massive blowout with Dan over his birthday; they were having a family dinner with Royal and May to celebrate, and Nathan was pissed that they wouldn’t let him bring his girlfriend. Dan had said there was no place for one of Nathan’s many floozies at the family dinner table for a significant celebration like this. Nathan had ranted that he’d been dating her for months; she wasn’t just any floozie. His father was unmoved.

Peyton had soothed him and told him it was fine, that they’d have their own celebration later. It helped, but not enough. He swore he was going to sulk for the entire meal, just to spite his father. And maybe he’d throw the next game too, to really piss Dan off. She’d stroked his arm and kissed his lips and told him she’d never in a million years let him throw a basketball game over her, but that he could sulk over dinner if he wanted. And added that maybe she found him just a little bit sexier because he’d defended her to his father. The ensuing make-out session helped … a lot.

So, the night before the family dinner, she dropped by with his presents, sitting on his lap up in his room while he unwrapped them: a mix she’d made of all his favourite hip hop and rap songs, plus a few she thought he’d like; that cologne that he’d not appreciated at the time but that he was still wearing a decade on; and an amazing sketch of him in action on the court, a look of sheer determination on his face as he drove through a line of imaginary foes. It was the sketch he liked most. Loved.

He always gave her a hard time about her angsty, emo sketches, but then she’d never really shown him something like this; an action portrait, packed full of detail so that it felt … palpable. He’d asked her if that’s really what he looked like when he played, and she’d said yes, of course. He’d cheekily replied that damn, he was hot, and she was so lucky to have him. She’d rolled her eyes and gone to leave, but he’d pulled her back onto his lap and held her close, telling her that _she_ was hot, and he knew he was lucky to have her too, and that he really, really wished she could be there for his actual birthday. And something in the way he spoke and held her eyes with his had her making a decision that she’d been mulling over for a few weeks now.

_“Come over afterwards,” she’d said, her heart thumping._

_“It’ll be really late,” he’d answered. “When Dad and Royal get into the Scotch …”  
“It doesn’t matter,” she’d interrupted him, leaning to kiss him where his jaw met his ear. “Come over afterwards. I’ll be up, waiting.”_

_Something about her tone made him pull back and look at her searchingly._

_“What ...?”_

_“Come over after your dinner and get the rest of your birthday present,” she’d invited a little shyly._

_“Peyt?” she could tell he really didn’t want to ask, but that he thought he knew what she was getting at. She’d taken his face between her palms and kissed him, long and hard._

_“What’s the rest of my present?” he’d laughed. “More of that kissing? ‘Cos I can go for that.”_

_And she’d stood, trailing her hand down his cheek and over his chest._

_“Nathan, let’s just say you’ve been very gentlemanly up until now, and I appreciate that … but there’s more to your birthday present, and you really need to be in my bedroom when I give it to you.”_

_“You gonna be wearing a bow?” he’d quipped._

_“Baby, maybe I won’t be wearing anything at all,” she’d said in a low voice that had made his stomach tighten._

_“Fuck.”_

_She’d merely flashed her eyes at him, nodded and tried to leave, but he’d pulled her back and stood up, one hand going to the small of her back and the other to twist into her hair. He’d held her hips against his and kissed from her ear down her jaw, to the corner of her mouth, teasing her until she’d giggled and begged him to kiss her properly. It was a kiss she could still remember now, ten years on. And clearly, he could too, having referred back to it at the departure gate. Tender and lingering, but searching and passionate. A kiss that made her feel more grown up than she ever had, and that had her wishing it was already the next day, and that it was her bed they were standing next to, and that he was already pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his jeans._

_“Babe,” he’d said, pulling back a little, “you have to go or I’ll …”_

_She’d blinked lazily at him._

_“Tomorrow.”_

_“Peyt, you don’t have to …”_

_“I know,” she’d said, tiptoeing to kiss him swiftly, “but I really, really want to.”_

_“It’s a big …”_

_“So, you keep saying!” she’d flirted._

_“No! Not that! I mean … it’s a big deal. I know it’s a big deal for you. You really want me to …?”_

_“Nathan,” she’d said laying her palm over his mouth, “I’ve thought about it. It is a big deal. But I want it to be you. I do.”_

_He’d raised his own hand and taken her hand in it, pressed her palm to his mouth, kissing it._

_“I know it’s different, ‘cos I’ve already … but it’s a big deal for me, too. With you,” he’d said. “I might be in love with you,” he’d continued, sounding, and looking, completely surprised at his own words._

_“Well good,” she’d laughed, “maybe I might be in love with you too.”_

_And she really had left the room then. But seconds later she’d popped her head back around the corner._

_“Hey! Happy birthday, baby.”_

_He’d thrown her a wink. “Don’t be wearing nothing,” he’d drawled. “In fact, be wearing lots.”_

_“What? Why?”  
“I want to unwrap my birthday present,” he’d said, staring at her intently. “Slowly.”_


	14. "I have not kissed you properly since the hospital.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmmm, you did, too. You know, I haven’t had a pedicure for a while. Maybe I’ll bring my …”  
> “No,” he interrupts firmly. “You will bring nothing. You need nothing. No movies, no junk food, no nail polish. This is not a slumber party; in fact, there is going to be so little slumbering going on. Virtually none actually. In fact, so little slumbering that you don’t even need pyjamas.”

She has one final trip back to Charlotte to wrap up the season’s merchandising, run over the latest sales figures, review the offering for the next season. But a demanding calendar of events at the LA gallery mean she has only three short days on the East Coast. He’s thrilled to hear she’s coming, not so thrilled to hear it’s for such a short time. He makes her swear to keep the second night free for dinner. She laughingly agrees, the musical sound making him sigh.

“Can I persuade you to …” he pauses for both dramatic and comic effect. “To … sleep over?”

“Why? You wanna watch chick flicks and eat junk food and do each other’s nails?” she teases.

“No, I do not want to watch girly movies and eat crap,” he responds, “though I seem to recall making a pretty decent job of your toenails a few years back.”

“Hmmm, you did, too. You know, I haven’t had a pedicure for a while. Maybe I’ll bring my …”  
“No,” he interrupts firmly. “You will bring _nothing_. You need _nothing_. No movies, no junk food, no nail polish. This is _not_ a slumber party; in fact, there is going to be so little slumbering going on. Virtually none actually. In fact, so little slumbering that you don’t even need pyjamas.”  
“No PJs?” she gasps in mock horror, and he can literally hear her smile.

“None. I am taking you for dinner. I am wining you and dining you then I am bringing you home ...”  
“To your shitty little shoebox of an apartment,” she inserts drolly.  
“Shut up! Bringing you home to my very comfortable bed, in which I will be keeping you _very_ naked _and extremely satisfied_ for the whole night.”

He’d thought about rebooking the boutique hotel, he really had, but it just seemed too much like tempting fate. So, he was keeping it simple.

“You talk a good game,” she says with a rasp to her voice.

“You know it’s more than talk,” he fires back.

It’s not though, in the end. It’s not more than talk at all.

Brooke, somehow, with her spidey senses, finds out Peyton is in town and turns up, unannounced, on Larry’s doorstep with, of course, movies, junk food and nail polish. Peyton can’t believe yet another evening with Nathan has been scuppered, but Brooke won’t hear a word about any excuses and, of course, when Juliet hears Brooke’s voice she flies into the room, piles in and in no time at all, Peyton’s virtually imprisoned on the couch.

“Brooke,” she sighs, “I’m having dinner with Nathan.”  
“Nope,” the brunette says as she flounces about. “You’re really not.”  
“Seriously! He’s … I can’t do this to him.”  
“Fine,” Brooke says, tossing her hair.

“I can go?” Peyton says, relieved, moving to stand up, but is hauled back down by Brooke’s astonishingly firm grip.  
“Nope. Of course not. But I’ll make the phone call to Superstar.”

The call is short but not, judging from the look on Brooke’s face, sweet. When she ends the call, she looks at Peyton and widens her eyes.

“Well?” Peyton asks.

“Phew!” Brooke says, waving her hand in front of her face. “I think Hotshot needs a little …”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Brooke says, looking at Juliet and clearly thinking carefully about her choice of words. “Let’s just say he had …. _Plans_. Plans with a capital P.”  
“Yes,” Peyton says with a tone that still conveys her displeasure. “Yes, he _did.”_

So much for very naked and extremely satisfied.

It’s a fun night, the girly night in the couch with her best friend and her daughter. Of course, it is. But she just keeps thinking of him, and how many times they’ve been stalled. It’s … ridiculous. And as much as she wants to fall into bed with him and wake up, hours later, still both exhausted and buzzing after a night of passion, maybe just a little achy in the best possible way; as much as she wants that, right now she’d settle for putting her palms to his cheeks, her lips on his and losing herself in those navy blue eyes of his.

It’s almost midnight and Brooke left a half hour ago, the brunette making Peyton insanely jealous when she teasingly mentioned how she was heading _back to Bobby’s place_ , to _Bobby_ , to join him in bed, where she’d be _very naked_ and Bobby would make sure she’s _extremely satisfied._

“Oh my God,” Peyton exclaims, recognizing that phrasing. “He ... Nate _told_ you that?”

“I think he shouted that, actually,” Brooke teases with a crinkled-up nose. “I’m not sorry I wrecked your night though; I hadn’t seen you and your Mini-Me for way too long.”

“I know, Brooke,” she sighs. “I … it’s so hard.”  
“Hard? Well,” Brooke says with a devilish twinkle in her eye. “It _might have been_ … for Nathan … if I hadn’t pulled rank on him. But at least it still will be for _my man_. Oh … P. Sawyer ... you meant … I believe you meant … difficult?”  
“Get out,” Peyton laughs. “Before I throw you out.”

So, it’s almost midnight and she’s about to turn off the light beside the bed, when her phone rings. It’s Nathan.

“Hey,” she says on answering. “It’s late. You okay?”

“No,” he says very firmly.

“Nathan!” she exclaims, pushing herself into a seated position. “What’s wrong?”

“I miss you,” he replies. She can see the pouty lips in her head too.

“Jerk! I was worried when you said no. But ... I know … I miss you too.”

“I haven’t even kissed you properly since the hospital and that was … that was _weeks ago_ , Peyton! And now there’s another dinner date gone awry because … because _stupid Brooke_. God, I miss you. What the hell’s this gonna be like after …”

“After?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I don’t even know if I mean after you go back to LA _again_ or after we’re, finally, having incredible sex or …”

“Or both?”

“Or both. FYI, you’re not yelling at me for assuming on the sex.”

“That you assumed it’ll be incredible?”

“No. That … I don’t know … just … that it’ll actually happen, when I haven’t even kissed you properly. _Since the hospital, Peyton._ I have not kissed you properly _since the hospital_.”

“You wanna’ come for a drive?” she suggests quietly.

“It’s midnight. Nearly,” he says but it’s not much of protest.

“Drive to me, Nathan Scott,” she says in a husky tone. “It’ll take you fifteen minutes.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Yeah, you’re right … should only be ten at this time of night.”

“Not even.”

“Stop arguing!” she laughs. “Do you want that kiss or not?”

“Yes. I absolutely do,” he says with a chesty sigh. “That’s why I’m on your front porch.”

“Again? What is it with you and my front porches?”

She races downstairs and opens the door, joining him on the porch. She’s in a tiny tank top and boxer style PJ pants and he looks very appreciative, making her flush with embarrassment, like he used to when she was fifteen and he was her first boyfriend and he’d say such borderline things in her ear during class. She says she’ll go and get changed but he stops her right away.

“You look perfect.”

“Grungy old tank and shorty PJ pants, no makeup and bed hair?”

“I love your bed hair. It’s sexy. I’ll just pretend I made it look like that … when I’m kissing you properly, I mean.”

“You know you keep talking about it and not actually …”

He shushes her, then pulls her against his chest and tries so hard, really he does, but he can’t help but press his hips to hers and rotate a little, grinning when a sigh escapes her lips and her hips chase his. When his lips are within a hair’s breadth she smiles – he can feel the movement only by the slight increase in warmth as she exhales against his mouth.

“No pressure,” she murmurs in an amused tone.

He grins and pulls back just a little, and his grin widens further as he detects her disappointment at that movement away from her, as miniscule as it is.

“No pressure, huh? Isn’t that my line?” he asks.

“You remember?” she asks, clearly a little surprised.

“Remember the very first time I kissed you? When you were fifteen? Of course, I remember. You were so nervous. I … I just wanted to make you laugh. Make you … relax into it.”  
“I seem to recall that it worked.”

“Why’d you throw back to that?” he asks, his hands flexing against her hips.  
“Hmmm. Let’s just say … that parting shot of yours at the airport …”  
“Oh, I see,” he grins proudly. “Prompted a few walks down memory lane, did it?”

“Something like that.”

He crowds into her space and backs her up a little until she feels the wall of the house against her back and then he crowds in a little more. His knee expertly manoeuvres itself between hers, moves a little from side to side until he can press his thigh between hers, rotate his hips a little against hers again, slide his palms up and down her sides teasingly slowly until he moves to wrap one large hand around her hip and the other to cup her chin and tilt her head back a little.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, pressing into her even more and flitting his lips over hers so gently she can barely feel it. Her mouth chases his and he growls a little from deep in his chest, pulls back and locks eyes with her for a few achingly long seconds.

“Nathan …” she whines, feeling her body yearn towards him, just enough that that hand at her waist can slip between her skin and the house wall. He flattens his palm against her sacrum and presses her forward so that their hips grind together. Yeah, he definitely wants to do more than kiss her.

“Feel that?” he teases, voice low and rumbling near her ear and he sucks at her ear lobe.

“Your lips on my skin? Mmm …”  
“No,” he chuckles, pressing open mouthed kisses down her neck and across her collar bone. “ _Not_ my lips. Feel what your hips are doing to me?” he growls, grinding his pelvis into her hard. “Jesus, you’re sexy. I want you so fucking much. It’s been driving me crazy having so much space between us.”

“I…” she sighs, tipping her head back so he can kiss up her throat, his breath warm and his teeth scraping just a little,

“I’m not doing that at your Dad’s home though,” he continues, “not with your daughter asleep upstairs. But you need to know … it is killing me not to … “  
“To …?”  
“I just really need to see you … I remember what you look like in that moment, when you go over the edge. I bet you’re even more gorgeous now.”

“You better make the kissing count then,” she quips, turning head so that her mouth meets his and whimpering a little when he finally – _finally_ – kisses her properly. She honestly loses track of time, the ensuing seconds and minutes and, who knows, maybe even hours, become a slow-motion sepia-toned flickering film of his mouth and his tongue and his breath. His pelvis dipping against hers and his hands touching and teasing and caressing and gripping and teasing and all too expertly finding a way, despite their layers of clothing, to tease her and please her, to make her go over that edge. He makes sure he’s kissing her when she does, inhaling her moans and sighs. Tells her, as she’s hanging on to him for dear life, that this one doesn’t count because their faces were so close that he couldn’t actually see her when she flew.

“Something to look forward to then,” she says, leaning into his chest and the feeling of his arms encircling her.

“Damn straight.”  
“Why, yes,” she laughs. “There is no denying that. You are, most certainly, damned straight.”

“And I think you’re sexy as hell,” he retorts.

“So you keep telling me.”  
It’s not until later, when he’s reluctantly left and she’s lying in bed in a fuzzy post-orgasmic haze, that she realises he was deliberately referring back to another conversation, in a bar, after her Dad and Jules left them to catch up in the bar. Something about someone who’d think she was sexy as hell and … love her for her?

He’s been driving himself for hours in the arena gym, pushing to failure on every machine, sweat pouring off him. He’s beyond being ‘in the zone’; to the point where he doesn’t recognise the failure point looming while he’s on the bench press. One side of the bar dips precariously and he swears under his breath, preparing to give up and tip the whole bar sideways when a pair of hands appears in his vision, steadies the bar and provides just enough assistance for Nathan to get the bar back into the rests.

He tips his head back to see Bobby’s face, upside down of course, but he recognises a fierce frown, nevertheless.

“Come and see me before you go,” Bobby says curtly, then turns on his heel.

“Why?” Nathan asks, hauling himself up to a seated position and dragging his towel across his face. “You gonna give me shit for pushing too hard?”

“I should,” Bobby says, turning back around and retracing his steps, “but no. I ... want to ask your opinion on something.”  
“Ask me now,” Nathan shrugs.  
“I ...”

“C’mon, spit it out, coach,” he says, and would grin but, frankly, he’s too damned tired.

“I’m … thinking about asking Brooke to move in with me.”  
“Okay?”

“So ... what do you think?” his coach asks, looking somewhat nervous – unusual for the usually cool as a cucumber man.

“I think it’s more important what you think. And what Brooke thinks, obviously.”

“You’ve known her for a long time,” Booby points out.  
“Our whole lives,” Nathan confirms.

“Exactly.”

“Coach ... Bobby ... Brooke is ...”

“Amazing,” Bobby supplies with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“Yeah, she is,” Nathan agrees. “But I can’t tell you if it’s right to ask her to move in. Only you and she know that.”

“It’s ... soon. Ish.”

“I ... guess so.”

“It is Nathan,” Bobby states with certainly. “Our first date was only a couple of days after the team’s end of season shindig.”

“Yeah,” Nathan says, immediately thinking about that timing for him and for Peyton. And, shit, Bobby and Brooke are here? _Moving in together?_ And he and Peyton … shit, it feels, again, like forever since he even got to kiss her. Like the adult version of a teenager having a girlfriend who goes to another school, in another state. “Yeah. I know.”

“So ... it’s soon. I mean ... compared to you and Peyton.”

“That’s different.”

_Unfortunately._

“Why?” Booby asks curiously.

“You and Brooke have been in the same city that whole time!” he exclaims, his frustration very evident.

“Right. That is ...”

“True,” Nathan supplies

“I was going to say frustrating,” Bobby grins knowingly.

“Yeah. Don’t even go there.”

“So ... you’re no help on my Brooke situation.”

“Look,” Nathan says straightforwardly. “Do you love her?”

“Hell, yes!”

“And where do you want to be in, say, a year?”

“Married,” Bobby says firmly, with no hesitation whatsoever.

“Well, that was … definite. So why the hesitation on shacking up then?”

“Cos it’s not about her and me. It’s about ...”

“Your kids?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a trial run, then?” Nathan asks. “It’s actually about whether they’ll accept her as a stepparent?”

“I ... yeah. I guess so,” Bobby concedes. “Do I tell her that though?”

“I think that’s too much pressure,” Nathan says after a moment. “I know her and I think that will make her feel insecure and make her try too hard and put too much pressure on herself. Just ... tell her you love her …”

“I’ve done that.”

“Then just tell her you want to share your home with her.”

“And ...?”

“I dunno. I don’t know you if you say _let’s get hitched but only if my kids give the thumbs up_. That’s ... only you can make that call.”

“You know? You’re not bad at this advice stuff, Scott. You could maybe even think about coaching for when you retire.”

“Yeah,” Nathan grins. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Will you take some from me?”

“I might, seeing as though you saved me having to tip that bar off to the side.”

“Stop killing yourself in the gym ...”

“You forget that I have fuck all else to do now that the season is …” Nathan says, with just a note of frustration showing.  
“Let me finish!” Bobby interrupts with a laugh. “Stop killing yourself in the gym and _get your ass to LA.”_  
“What?”

“You’ve got ... I dunno … maybe ten, eleven weekends ‘til preseason camp. Before the best season of your career kicks off. I started dating Brooke within days of you and Peyton finally getting your shit together. I’m asking Brooke to move in with me ...”

“Right. So, your decision is made then?”

“I’m asking Brooke to move in with me,” Bobby repeats, raising a hand to stop Nathan from interrupting him, “and in the same timeframe, exactly where are you and Peyton at?”

“That’s … different.”

“How?”

“She ...” he starts lamely.

“Has a kid? Me too.”

“I ...”

“Had a major freaking disruption in your life that you had to overcome? So did Brooke.”

“We’re barely in the same city!” he protests. Hmmm. He sounds whiney even to himself.

“Which is exactly why I told you to get your ass to LA.”  
“I hate LA.”

“But you love a girl who’s in LA,” Bobby points out.

“I ...”

“Nathan,” Bobby says patiently. “C’mon, you _love_ her.”

“I ...”

“Go to LA. Spend summer with her.”

“Then what?”

“Come back. Get us to the playoffs. Win your first NBA title.”

“And leave her in LA?”

“Nathan. At worst, _at absolute worst_ , she’ll be in Charlotte as much next season as she was this season. At best ...”

“At best?” Nathan asks, though he’s really just taken on board that Bobby is saying exactly the sorts of things he’d said _himself_ ; to Peyton. And he really needs to take them on board himself.

“Maybe you’ll be asking me if you should be asking her to move in with you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Like I’d need someone else to give me the balls to ...”

“Go to LA?” Bobby inserts with a smirk.

“Shit. I need to go to LA.”

When Pippa walks into the gallery, she finds Peyton seated at the desk in the main gallery space, holding a photo. She’s so absorbed that she doesn’t even notice the brunette approaching her, not until Pippa leans over and rests her elegantly manicured hand on Peyton’s shoulder, making the seated woman leap. The photo shows Peyton and Julian, grinning at the camera. The one that Nathan saw on that very first visit to her home.

“I always loved that photo,” Pippa says quietly, patting Peyton’s shoulder in apology for giving her a fright. “What are you pondering on?”

“I … just … wondering what he’d think, I guess.”  
“Julian? What he’d think of Nathan? I know what he’d think.”

“No I was more thinking …”  
“What he’d think of you, finally, getting yourself a decent man?”  
“I … yeah.”  
“He’d be cheering you on all the way.”

“You think?”

“I _know._ Just like I know what he’d think of said man.”

Peyton screws up her nose a bit, waits, then, when Pippa holds back, gestures with a revolution of her hand for Pippa to go on.

“They’d circle each other for a while, trying to best each other.”  
“Mathlete vs athlete?”  
“Totally. They’d fight over you …”

“Don’t be ...”

“ _Because,”_ Pippa interrupts _, “_ my sappy brother would want to make sure Nathan is good enough for you and that he’s going to care for his girls properly. Then …”

“Then?”

“Then they’d be best buddies,” Pippa says with a light shrug.

“Yeah?”

“And Julian would tease Nathan for the rest of his life that Nathan wouldn’t have had a hope if Julian was straight.”  
“And Nathan would fire back that ...” Peyton adds after a laugh.

“That?”

But Peyton demurs, shakes head, blushing.

“That he was your first and will be your last?”

“I think that’s a bit premature,” Peyton says quietly.

“Do you? I don’t.”

“So, tell me what you really think, sis.”

“I think you should get your skinny ass to Charlotte. That’s what I think.”  
“Yeah?”

“You know you want to, Peyton.”

“I do,” she says easily.

“So, do it.”

“That simple?”

“Yep. Go set up your life with that hunk of a man. And, while you’re at it, set up Baker Sawyer Gallery East.”

“Pippa …”

“Don’t fight me!”

“I won’t... if _you_ won’t fight _me_.”

“On what?”

“Baker Sawyer Gallery … _West_?”

“What about it?”

Peyton stands, looks around the space and gestures around it, then turns back to Pippa.

“It’s yours,” she says.

“I … what?”

Peyton puts her hands on Pippa’s shoulders and shuffles her to the side, opens a desk drawer and pulls out a bound document. She taps it with a fingertip and hands it to Pippa.

“Paperwork. Moves Baker Sawyer Gallery West to a 50/50 ownership model. You. Me. With operating decisions to be made by you. And for East, 75/25 split, operating decisions by me.”

“You can’t do that,” Pippa says breathlessly, tears welling.  
“Well, it seems I can. I’ve already signed it. And you know what? I could have a pretty good go at forging your chicken scrawl signature on it if I had to.”

“So … you’re going?”  
“Yeah. Not quite sure when but … geeze … the house … and …”  
“I’ll buy the house from you.”  
“You what?”  
“That house has to stay in the family. One way or another. I mean, after Julian died, it was clear that you were the way. You and my brother’s amazing daughter. My niece. Now … I’m the other way.”

“You …”  
“Yes?” Pippa says, eyebrow arched. “I’ll keep a room for you to visit. Always.”

“I … yes,” Peyton smiles. “That’s ... amazing.”  
“And I call shotgun on bridesmaid,” Pippa teases, half expecting Peyton to baulk at the very idea of marriage talk.

“Not maid of honour?” Peyton merely says, eyebrow raised.

“Wouldn’t Brooke kill me?” Pippa laughs.

“Well, there is that.”

“Damn …” Pippa says in a low voice, looking a little distracted.  
“Don’t panic,” Peyton laughs, “I’d save you from the Brookie Monster. Maybe.”  
“No,” Pippa says, then, in an echo of Peyton’s gesture from a few moments ago, puts her hands on Peyton’s shoulders and turns her friend around. To see that Nathan Scott is striding across the sidewalk outside their front window, a large carryall in one hand. “I mean … _damn_ ,” Pippa says with a dramatic tone, “the fact that your hunk of a man just turned up here better not mean I don’t still get this gallery!”

Peyton swallows, her green eyes huge as she watches his steps. Without moving her gaze off him, she speaks.

“Pip, promise me you won’t tell him I was going to go to Charlotte.”

“Was?” Pippa asks, eyebrow raised.

“ _Am._ Am going. I just …”

“I get it. I won’t tell him,” Pippa says with a crafty smile, “as long as _you_ promise _me_ that you’ll go with this and give it everything you’ve got.”  


They both look on as Nathan walks in the door, stops and stands there, looking at Peyton. Pippa smiles to herself; she may as well not even be there; it’s clear that Nathan Scott has eyes for just one person in the entire world, let alone in this building.

Peyton locks gazes with him, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head, when she bites her bottom lip and virtually bats her eyelashes.

He takes one step.

She mirrors that; takes one, slightly wobbly, slightly tentative step towards him.

Then they seem paralysed again, each watching the other, being inextricably drawn together and yet both unable to move.

He grins, finally, and opens his arms.

She hesitates just one second then Pippa mutters ‘everything you’ve got’ under her breath and digs her finger into Peyton’s hip.

Peyton runs – flies – across the room and launches herself into his arms, one hand landing on his shoulder, the other wrapping around his neck. His spare arm raises swiflty to secure her, his forearm and large hand reaching under her to hold her tight.

They freeze for a moment, eyes full of each other and full of wonder too.

Finally, he realises he needn’t still be holding that bag. He drops it, lifts his now free hand, and entwines his fingers into her loose hair, draws her head closer to his face and deeply inhales the scent of her.

“What are you …?” she breathes.

“I couldn’t do it any longer,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Have another day without kissing you,” he growls.  
“So what are you …?”

Waiting for. He’s not; not anymore. Especially not when her tone is flirty and dripping honey like that, and her green eyes are wide and clearly as hungry for his kiss as he knows his are for hers.

He thinks he actually _groans_ when his mouth is finally, finally on hers, then simply doesn’t care. She tastes so good, and her lips are so perfect. Cushiony and yet moving with his perfectly. She was always the best kisser; right from the start. Somehow her kisses could be fun and light, serious and moody, chaotic and passionate, tender and searching. Sometimes all of those things, and more, in the space of mere minutes. Right now, though, as he holds her even closer and pulls her bottom lip just a little between his teeth? Her kiss is heavenly; deep, responsive and - he feels his stomach tighten when he realises - as desperate as his own.

He eases back just a smidgen and her lips chase his, she emits a tiny throaty noise that he’s going to call a moan, and he’s gone; tightening his arms around her even more, tilting his chin just a fraction and – to hell with proprietary – edging his tongue past those perfect lips and yes, she responds just as he knew she would. Just enough pressure against his mouth and tongue to turn him on even more, then a slow, scintillating dance of give and take. He’s vaguely aware of her slender fingers sliding into the closely cropped hair at the nape of his neck, but really, his senses, all of them, are full of her; the way she smells, the way she tastes, the way her hips press against his and her slim torso fits so perfectly in his arms, the way her lips feel with his, the coolness of the skin on the inside of her elbow against the side of his neck, the way her skin glows when he opens his eyes just a little.

It’s Pippa that stops them. She levers them apart with her shoulder and stands, hands on hips, like a dissatisfied school ma’am, though her beaming smile gives away her joy.

“Seriously,” she scolds them lightly, “even though the two of you necking like teenagers is the best looking artwork in here right now, I think our ... more _mature_ clientele might find it a bit off putting. Even if it's just cos they're jealous as hell. So, get!” she instructs, handing them their bags – Nathan’s large holdall and Peyton’s slouchy shoulder bag.

“What?” Peyton asks, looking more than a little dazed and kiss-drunk.

“Go! Off you go!” Pippa says, shooing them along. “Go get your groove thing on.”  
“But …” Peyton begins.

“Peyton Elizabeth,” Pippa interrupts firmly, “I will handle the gallery. I will collect Juliet from preschool. I will take her out for an early dinner for a treat. You've got until about 6, is my estimate, so make sure you’ve got your clothes back on by then!”

“Pippa! I …”

“You heard her,” Nathan grins, moving his bag to his other hand and reaching down to run his fingertips down the inside of her wrist on the way to entwining his fingers with hers. “She sounds like she'll get as bossy as Brooke if she doesn’t get her own way.”

He’s thrilled to find she has the Comet. Even more so when she’s driving along the coast on the way to her home, and the wind picks up just a little and blows her hair across her face. Visions of another time, another place crowd his mind, and he can’t believe his luck. He has her back.

He traces his fingers over the nape of her neck, and she tips her head back a bit in response, smiling a perfect longing smile. 

You're so gorgeous,” he breathes. “You look ... so, so elegant with your hair up like that. Graceful.”  
She tilts her head and finds herself remembering their call room conversation about accepting compliments gracefully.

“Um. I'm supposed to just say thank you, right?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods.

“Thank you. But ... it’s fine. You can.”

“I can what?”

“I know you want to take my hair down,” she says, with an amused and knowing tone.

“I,” he begins in protest then just grins, shaking his head. Caught. “Yeah ... okay. It's just ... this reminds me so much of when we were kids, you know? Summer drives in the Comet, no cares ‘cos we were away from the shit, your hair flying in the wind.”

“Well ... there's not as much wind as there is back home, but ... go on.”

“You sure?”

She dips her gaze and nods a little shyly and she looks so like the girl he used to date years ago. The one who shyly nodded when he asked her out on their first date, shyly nodded when asked if he could kiss her for the first time, shyly nodded when he first led her upstairs to his bedroom, his eyebrow quirked in a silent question.

He reaches his hand out and expertly releases the clip, exactly the same type she used to use and … muscle memory or something … and her hair tumbles down She looks across at him, raises eyebrow. Stunning.

He grins, reaches out again and his fingers thread into her now loose hair a little, massaging her scalp in a slow and hypnotic way.

“God, that's so good,” she sighs, making him smile and cast a sexy look at her.

"What?” she challenges.

“I just ... just thinking about how many times I'm gonna make you say that between now and, what did Pippa say, six?”

"Nathan!"

“Yeah, that too,” he murmurs. “You look so sexy when you're saying my name.”

It is exactly as they intended; a long hot (in every way) summer. He cements his closeness with Juliet, spending time with her and Peyton together, with each of them alone, even a couple of days out with Juliet and Pippa, upon the brunette’s insistence. Something about being the gatekeeper her brother would want her to be. Whenever those outings occur, they return to an exhausted Peyton, paint in her hair, her arm and shoulder aching, but a satisfied grin on her beautiful face. She’s painting up a storm and he’s floored by the staggering beauty of her pieces.

The summer comes to an end, of course, as all good things must, and even as these weeks have felt miraculously, luxuriously long, it suddenly feels not long enough as the last hours of his time in LA, _with his girls_ , draws to a close.

When he’s packing to head back to Charlotte, somehow having accumulated a ton of drawings – yes, she’s going to be as talented as her Mom - and other too cute gifts from Juliet, Peyton sits cross legged on the bed, looking not too much older than his high school girlfriend that did the same, and coyly tells him she has news. He waits, knowing from one glance at her that she’s pausing and searching for just the right words. Eventually she tells him she’s sorry she hasn’t mentioned it before, but she’s going to hand over operation of the LA gallery to Pippa. He stops, stands with a few T-shirts in his hands, his breath held and just looks at her. And waits. Her green eyes search his and he tilts his head encouragingly and she grins.

“So, I’m going to start a new gallery,” she continues, “and I thought I might do that on the East Coast, in … maybe … Charlotte.”

He drops the clothes and stands, hands at his hips, his grin matching hers.

“And I’ll stay with my Dad until I find a …” she continues, but he stops her.

“That’s great timing,” he says warmly.

“Why?  
“Well,” he drawls, moving around the bed to sit across from her, extending his arm across the expanse of the linen to enmesh his fingers with hers, “I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned this before but … I sold my house in Tree Hill. It’s a really long settlement so I kind of held off on the news, and I’ve bought one in Charlotte, and I’ll be settling on it soon. I hope.”  
“And?” she teases, though she’s pretty sure she knows where this is going.

He grins, wiggles his eyebrows, bends to press a kiss to the palm of her hand.

“I’ve seen you do some pretty spectacular painting over this summer, babe,” he chuckles. “Reckon you could put your paint brushes to good use in my new place.”  
“You’re comparing my _art_ to painting a _wall_?” she says with mock outrage. “And asking me to paint your house walls with my soft sable paint brushes? So, it’s good timing because you need me to paint your house?”

“Loft.”

“So, it’s good timing because you need me to paint your _loft_?”

“Uh-huh.”  
“Not good timing for any other reason?”

“Meh. Maybe?”

“Maybe what, Nate?” she asks, rising up, knee-walking across the bed, pressing herself up against him and threading her fingers together at the back of his neck.

“Hmmm,” he hums. “You are just … amazing. Incredible.”

“Yes, I am,” she teases, eyes shining. “And why else is it good timing?”

“In time for Juliet to start school without having to move part way through the year?”  
“True. Why else?”

“New season; season in which we make the playoffs, maybe even the season in which I get my first NBA title.”  
“You have some big plans for this season,” she says, eyes wide and a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“I do.”  
“So ... that’s it then,” she says sliding her hands down his chest, fingers spread wide and palms pausing a little as they move over his pecs. She moves back and he groans, grabs her hand and pulls her back towards him, into his lap, one large hand pressing her hips against his and the other winding into her hair. Just how he started this summer, weeks ago, in the gallery. He kisses her long and hard, until she’s all but breathless and her knees are weak. Then he kisses her a little more, chuckling into her mouth while his fingertips stroke the soft skin at the top of her thigh.

“It’s _great_ timing,” he speaks against her lips after he pulls back just a fraction. “For us.”

“Yeah?”

“We get to live in the same town, we get to build on this amazing, incredible, long hot summer we’ve had.”

“Sounds perfect.”  
“And we get to do that right after I tell you that you’re perfect and that I am unbelievably grateful that I was smart enough to not set you up with my Coach and that he was smart enough to make me haul my ass out there.”  
“He … Bobby did that?”

“Yeah. Right after having a crisis about whether or not to ask Brooke to move in.”  
“Which you clearly told him he should do, seeing as though they have spent the Summer playing house and being too cute for words.”

“Like us?”

“Bleh,” she says, ‘We’re not cute.”  
“True,” he agrees, pressing his lips to the warm skin under her earlobe, “we’re hot.”

“So … Bobby had a crisis about asking her?” she asks, a little breathlessly, tilting her head to the side to give him more room.  
“Not really. He pretty much got there on his own.”  
“But he got you here? To me?”  
“Yep. He got you to me, too. Thank God.”

“Seems a long time ago.”  
“It does. And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”  
“What’s important is what we do with it from now on, right?” he says, tilting her head back to look intently into her eyes.

“Absolutely.”  
“In that case …” he stops, bends his head again and kisses her languidly. She laughs a little and he presses his lips to her forehead. “In that case,” he repeats, “Peyton Sawyer, you need to know that I love you. Madly.”

She smiles lazily and returns his gestures; a soft kiss to his mouth, lips parted and moving against his lazily, then standing on tiptoes to press another to his brow.

“I love you too, Nathan Scott. Deeply.”

“Great!” he says, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and turning it so he can check the time on her watch.

“Great?” she laughs.

“Yep,” he says, pushing her backwards to land against the pillows and straddling her as he almost rips his T-shirt over his head. “Great!”

“I say _I love you_. I say I love you _deeply_. And you say that’s ... great?” she repeats as he swiftly unbuttons her linen shirt, his lips trailing over the skin as he bares it but his eyes looking up at her all the while.

“Yes. You love me. _Deeply._ So … you’ll be perfectly happy for me to … _love you_ ,” he says suggestively, his voice low. “ _Right now_. And ... _very_ deeply.”

He peels the shirt back from her shoulders, presses his mouth to her clavicle as his thigh presses between hers.

“In fact,” he says, his voice now pure gravel, “I’m gonna love you so deeply you’ll still be able to feel it tomorrow, when I’m back in Charlotte.”

“Nathan!” she protests, but there’s no resistance in her and they both know it.

“Ssshhhh,” he says against her lips, “I have three hours before I have to leave. No talking.”  
“No ...?” she giggles

“No talking,” he instructs. “Kissing. Licking. Sucking. Loving. No talking.”


	15. Triptych to Quadtych

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peyton herself is brought up short the moment she walks in the loft’s front door. Along the wall to the left of the door, the first thing she sees as she enters the space, is a series of paintings. Her paintings. The first paintings she’d created in years, soon after Nathan came back into her life. The paintings purchased by a buyer who wanted to remain anonymous. A buyer who said the three must stay together. Her triptych. Except … it’s not. It’s not three paintings; it’s four.

It takes a little longer than he thought it would for settlement to go through on the loft but eventually the deal is done, and he takes possession just before his first stretch of away games in the new season. He’s relieved to have the purchase finalized, and relieved that there is time, just, to move his stuff, what little there is of it, out of the shoebox and into the loft. He’s also relieved that he wasn’t under pressure to pack up the furniture and other belongings in the Tree Hill house. Yes, it sold, but the buyers were moving back to retire in North Carolina, having been on the West Coast for many years, and were working to a relaxed timeframe. But it’s good to give them a date by which the house will be empty and ready for them.

He’s glad to be into the season again, glad that he still loves the game so much that, by the time they headed into pre-season camp, he’d been so ready to get back on the court that he’d virtually been twitching. He’ll miss her, and Jules, on this away stretch; he knows that much, but there’s no justification for the team’s sketch artist to be on this trip and he knows Peyton still feels like she needs to spend a lot of time with Juliet, getting her accustomed to living in Charlotte, settling her into her preschool, starting to think about schools, so that she can look for their own place in appropriate suburbs. He feels all sorts of conflicted when she talks about the areas she’s shortlisting. He wants her out of Larry’s, that’s for sure; not because he isn’t getting on with her Dad, because he really is, but because … well, between her Dad and her daughter, getting time alone is … a challenge. If Peyton has her own place, there’s going to be nights when Juliet stays with her beloved Grandad and … yeah.

He has to admit he’s also kind of pleased that all that talk and teasing about it being good timing so that she could paint his place came to fruition. When she tells him it’s better now than later, he looks a little confused.

“You’re so cute when you’re stumped,” she laughs.

“I … what? I am _not_ cute!” he says, completely outraged.

“Sure, you are, especially when you’re confused.”  
“Why would it be better now than later? I mean … not that I’m complaining, trust me.”  
“Because it’s way easy for me to paint the walls in empty rooms with no furniture in the way.”  
“Why … oh. _Seriously?_ You’re gonna paint now? Like … while I’m away? Wouldn’t it be better if I was here to help?”

“Yeah, trust me; this is better. I mean … this is the only way I can make sure you have nothing whatsoever to do with colour choices,” she quips drily.

“My favourite is green,” he muses.

“I am not painting your walls green, Nathan!”  
“I wasn’t suggesting you do.”  
“Well, good. And … since when has green been your favourite colour, anyway?” she asks, thinking about this quite carefully.

“Since that’s Bobcat livery” he answers, his eyes gleaming, pulling her into his arms and resting his hands at her hips.

“Of course,” she smiles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes a little in a way that makes him warm.

“And my favourite girl’s eyes are green,” he adds, moving one hand to tip her chin up so he can gaze into said green eyes.

“Sweet talker,” she mutters.

“I speak only the truth,” he retorts, bending to kiss her while he pulls her closer.

She makes good progress on the painting. The walls are all in great condition; no repairs or resurfacing required, and of course, as she has pointed out, there’s no furniture to be covered or moved. It probably helps that she uses the work as a distraction against the constant thoughts of missing him. Later in the season, when she’s not required at games, she’ll have her new gallery to serve as distraction but right now, the space isn’t ready and she really doesn’t think the builders would appreciate her walking in and picking up a hammer, so painting Nathan’s loft it is. She tackles the four bedrooms first, finding herself falling into an easy rhythm quickly, and completing a room each day without pushing too hard.

The kitchen, dining and living areas are virtually open plan, so there’s not as many walls to cover as there’d be in a more conventional house. And she’s confident, after a mid-afternoon walk around to assess the space, that she’ll also be able to get that area finished before Nathan returns.

She’s just thinking she needs to finish up and go collect Juliet when Brooke phones offering to do just that, and to bring her daughter, along with coffee and food, to Nathan’s place. Peyton’s stomach rumbles at the mention of food and she laughs, tells Brooke she’s a lifesaver, and goes back to finishing the tidy up on the last bedroom.

“Oh my God, Brooke, thank you,” she sighs as she takes a long gulp from the tall coffee. “I completely forgot to stop and eat today. And I’ve had water, but I really needed that caffeine.”

Juliet bounds about, asks if they can see the finished bedrooms and the three of them wander about for a few minutes, with Brooke admiring the colour palette.

“So grown up, P. Sawyer,” she whispers, nudging Peyton jokingly. “No dramatic red anywhere in sight!”

“Auntie Brookie, is it cake time?” Juliet sings, skipping past them down the hallway.

“Must be, my darling,” Brooke says, picking up on Jules’ action and skipping after her (quite an athletic feat in four-inch heels), throwing a cheeky look over her shoulder at Peyton. Peyton laughs, and follows at a more sedate pace, finding Brooke unpacking delicious looking slices of cake, small plates and lovely little cake forks.

“Goodness!” she exclaims. “You have thought of everything! Aren’t we lucky, Pickle?”

Brooke arranges their afternoon tea, then swings Juliet up to sit on the kitchen bench there being no chairs or barstools just yet. Peyton takes her plate and wanders along to the end of the living room, standing back and scrutinizing the two large squares of paint on the wall. She’s still tossing up between them and has looked at them in various morning lights and has nipped by to look at them in the evening when Jules is asleep but hasn’t seen them in the afternoon like this as she’s always left by now to get her daughter.

“Brooke,” she almost moans as she takes a mouthful of cake. “Oh my God, this is amazing cake. I knew there was a reason why I kept you on as my best friend. It’s scrumptious. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Well,” Brooke says as she comes to stand next to her, “not quite so fast.”  
“How come?” Peyton asks, raising her eyebrows expectantly then placing another big piece of cake into her mouth.

“It may be … payment for your help?” Brooke says with a cute little cringe. “In advance.”

“My help?”  
“The help you’re going to give me.”

“I’m not painting your and Bobby’s place too!” Peyton laughs. “Seriously! I mean it! So, don’t even think about asking.”

“Okay,” Brooke smirks, “so _not_ commenting on how you instantly refuse to paint for _me_ , your bestest friend, but you _offered_ to do it for Nathan. He didn’t even have to ask.”

“Okay, first off; Nathan _did_ ask me. Sort of. He … he kind of just assumed actually.”  
“And I _can’t_ assume?”

“Were you?” Peyton asks, looking worried. “Going to ask me to paint your place?”

“Is it though?” Brooke asks wistfully, and Peyton sees right away, from the anxious look on her friend’s face, that she has somehow stumbled onto the crux of the matter. She just doesn’t quite know what it is.

“Is it what?”  
“Bobby’s … _and_ mine? The … place.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Peyton asks, clearly thinking the answer to that question is a forgone conclusion.

“I mean ... maybe?” Brooke says looking terribly uncertain.

“What’s up Brooke?”

“I just …” Brooke begins before looking down at the cake on the plate in her hand and swallowing.

“Brooke?”  
“I almost … I just almost wish he hadn’t asked me to move in, you know?”

“No! Brooke!” Peyton exclaims in surprise. Brooke and Bobby are … amazing together. Her friend has been settled and happy … _content_ … in way that Peyton’s never seen before. “What’s going on? I thought it was all going brilliantly.”

“It is!” Brooke says, with what is almost a little sob in her voice. “It’s going _too_ well!”

“Brooke … what the … how can it be going too well? Are you just second guessing being happy?”

“I mean … I mean …” Brooke stops, looking more vulnerable than Peyton has seen her look in the time they’ve been back in touch. More so, even, than during those few days in New York. “He’s _it_ for me, P. Sawyer,” Brooke says quietly, earnestly.

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?”  
“But …”

“But?” Peyton prompts gently, placing her fork down on her plate to free her hand, extending it towards her friend in a gesture that somehow demonstrates care and concern.

“Well … what if he asked me to move in because …”

“Because what, honey?” Peyton asks, tilting her head and running her palm up and down Brooke’s upper arm encouragingly.

“What if he … what if …” she pauses, swallows, then tries again, rushing out the words. “What if he asked me to move in because he doesn’t want to ask me to marry him?”

“Brooke … that’s not … no. I really don’t think he’d …”

“Hmmm.”  
“You know what I do think, though?” Peyton says, looking at her friend appraisingly.

“What?”  
“I think that you have too much time on your hands and you’re letting your head go wild. Now as much as I love that you have time to do wonderful things like pick up your beautiful god daughter from school and bring me cake, I think maybe you need to find something else for your head to be thinking about. Before you do that very Brooke Davis thing and sabotage the best thing, the best _man_ , that’s ever happened to you.”

“Like what?” Brooke sighs. “Think about … what?”  
“Like … actually doing something about that baby thing,” Peyton suggests.  
“Absolutely,” Brooke nods enthusiastically. “But I want to be married first.”

“Oh … oh my God!” Peyton cries in surprise. “ _Really?_ You want a _baby_?”  
“Isn’t that what you just said?”  
“I meant do something about that amazing _Baby Brooke_ idea you had – your fashion label for little people, Brooke, not having _your own little person_. And the maternity line. Do that too.”  
“I … so you _don’t_ think I should have a …?”  
“That is absolutely 100% not what I was saying,” Peyton interrupts. “Of course, you should have a baby. And sooner rather than later if you want to. But I do know you, and you’re right; for you, you need to be Mrs Bobby Irons first.”  
“You think …?”

Peyton knows Brooke’s incomplete question was not going to be asking for confirmation about that. She knows what Brooke really wants – _needs_ – to know. It’s amazing how those years and years of friendship, even though only recently renewed, have stuck and they can still almost read each other’s minds.  
“I think it’ll happen,” Peyton confirms. “He’ll ask you. And I know you need for the question to come from him, not to be all modern missy and pop the question yourself. Even though he’d be saying yes before you even got the sentence out. You just need, and I realise this is incredibly difficult for you, but you just need to relax, and be patient and not try to control every little thing in your life. You’re a force of nature, Brookie, and you need to let Bobby do this in his time, in his way.”

“I … okay,” Brooke says, her shoulders slumping in relief.  
“And you also need to come and check out the space that has literally just become available next to Baker Sawyer Gallery East.”  
“I … what?”

“It’s a really nice space, Brooke. Reminds me a lot of the old Karen’s Café space.”

“We can be business neighbours?” Brooke asks, excitement spiking her raspy voice. “Oh … we can be business neighbours!”

Nathan gets back into town late at the end of the away game tour, very late, too late to call Peyton. But he can’t resist texting her, just in case she’s awake. She’s not. He kind of knew she wouldn’t be, but as he wanders a little aimlessly through his loft, finding she’s even set up the master bedroom with the sparse belongings from his old shoebox apartment, he can’t help but send the text with his first, instinctive reaction to her work. Her hard work.

_“Seriously? You must be exhausted. I love it. Every single square inch of it. Please come over tomorrow so I can thank you properly. Not innuendo, BTW. I’ll take you out for a thank you lunch.”_

Brooke drops Peyton off at the loft late the next morning, after the two of them have spent an exciting couple of hours wandering through the space next to Baker Sawyer Gallery East, with Peyton’s lead contractor in tow, building up a vision for what seems certain to become Baby Brooke’s first store.

Brooke’s so excited to get started that she drops Peyton at the gate and drives off, Peyton’s _‘I told you so! I told you that you just needed a project!’_ ringing in her years.

But Peyton herself is brought up short the moment she walks in the loft’s front door. Along the wall to the left of the door, the first thing she sees as she enters the space, is a series of paintings. Her paintings. The first paintings she’d created in years, soon after Nathan came back into her life. The paintings purchased by a buyer who wanted to remain anonymous. A buyer who said the three must stay together. Her _triptych._ Except … it’s _not_. It’s not three paintings; it’s four.

It’s a dark and brooding layer upon layer of black called _Love_. Followed by the greys emerging from black - _Companion Piece AKA Safety?_ Followed by the hopeful whites emerging from silvery greys _Companion Piece AKA What Is This?_ And the dynamic, transcendent layering of whites _Companion Peace AKA No, This is Love._

She stands and looks, for long minutes, until his footsteps along the room pierce her contemplative bubble.

He’s clearly just out of the shower, his hair damp and is still pulling on a T-shirt. Normally she’d be hard pressed to drag her gaze away from his chest and abs, but … the sight of her paintings, well … _his_ paintings she guesses, perfectly hung on the wall, draw her back.

She looks from them to him and back and laughs lightly, but he knows her. And he knows exactly how overcome she is. He approaches her, stands next to her, shoulder to shoulder, looks at the quadtych himself. Maybe breathes just a tiny sigh of relief when he feels her fingers entwine with his.

“Phew!” he says with a look of mock fear. “Was beginning to think you were pissed. I … just had to have them,” he says. “Even before Pippa told me they were yours, they just … gripped me.”

“I … I had no idea that the three were related to the one I did so long … hey!” she interrupts herself and exclaims, turning into him, eyes wide.

“What?”  
“ _Love._ You kept that one instead of taking it to the community centre with the others!”

He shrugs a little bashfully.

“I honestly couldn’t tell you why I did,” he admits. “I just … instinct? I don’t know. I just ...”  
“You kept _Love_ ,” she says softly.

“In more ways than one,” he adds. “You don’t mind that it was me that bought the three? You don’t feel like you’ve lost an important fan? What’s the word … patron?”

“Well, I probably deserve your patronage,” she says eventually, after pondering the four canvases again, “after all, I just spent the best part of a week painting your loft.”  
“Our loft,” he says without thinking.

“Sure,” she groans with a pretend begrudging tone, “I’ll help you arrange furniture and stuff.”

“No,” he says, turning to face her properly, “I mean … I mean it’s your place too.”

“Well, it has my paintings in it, so kinda like my gallery, I guess. Or perhaps I should say my half-finished gallery space which needs some serious attention from me now that _this_ little paint job is done.”

“Have I put you behind?” he asks with concern.  
“It’s fine,” she sighs with a heavy tone that he’s just not quite sure enough is teasing.

“Peyton …”  
“I promise! I’m teasing. I couldn’t have done much the last few days while the builders were in there anyway. And during the last week the space next door’s become free. Brooke’s gonna take it and we can work towards a double opening so …”

“You two, huh? Meant to be back together.”  
She looks at the four paintings on the wall, then at him.

“Like you and me?” she asks directly, unafraid of meeting his gaze.

“Like you and me,” he agrees, gesturing to the works. “Like those paintings. We’re keeping the best of what we were and building on it.”

“I can’t believe you bought them, sneaky! And that you kept _Love_ all this time.”

“It … meant something to me. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know how much until … until I saw _Companion Pieces_.”

“And I didn’t know where they came from at the time; turns out it was from you.”  
“Aaaah … I think they came from _you_.”  
“I didn’t know why I changed from _Companion Piece_ to _Companion Peace_ through the titles, either. I just … I get it now though.”

She takes his other hand in hers and, in a move that almost makes him tear up, she brings his hands to her lips, one after the other, kissing the knuckles on one and the base of his thumb on the other before she lifts her head and pierces his heart with the solemn look in her green eyes.

“You,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “You … _you’re_ the piece I was missing and _the peace_ that I was waiting for, Nate.”

“I … _I_ make your to do list complete?” he suggests with a warm light in his eyes.

“More than that; you make _me_ complete.”

Well … what can he do after that except sweep her up into his arms and carry her, giggling wonderfully, down the hallway to his bedroom to christen it. She protests (not very strongly) that he’s just had a shower, that he’s supposed to be taking her out for lunch to say thank you for wielding a paint brush and roller for the best part of a week.

He tells her he’ll have another shower, this time with her.

He tells her he’ll take her out for a _late_ thank you lunch after they’ve worked up an appetite.

He tells her that first, he’s going to thank her in a multitude of other ways, starting with kissing her … all over.

“You should have a housewarming party,” she says casually, much, _much_ later as she stands, arms akimbo, looking around at the space, mentally placing furniture into comfortably, inviting, livable arrangements, while he gathers his wallet and keys. “To celebrate your new start.”

“You should move in,” he retorts in the same casual tone. “You and Jules. You should move in with me.”

She’s silent, shows no reaction other than to tilt her head back a little and look at the ceiling, the freshly painted ceiling, then around the walls, one of which bears a series of four square paintings, the first of which she’d had no idea, until earlier on this remarkable day, was still in existence. _Love._

“Peyton?” he pushes softly. “You gonna say anything?”

“You’re not gonna give up on that, are you?” she asks, a smile playing with the corner of her perfect lips.

“Not until you say _our_ place, _our_ loft, _our_ housewarming party,” he retorts.

She tilts her head and smiles a mysterious little smile at him.

“ _We_ should have a housewarming party,” she says, with sparkling eyes. “Celebrate _our_ new start. _Our_ new start in _our_ new loft.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do.”  
She revolves slowly, taking in the space, her small smile growing wider by the second, until she stops, facing him.

“Nathan?”

“Sawyer?”

“I love you too.”

“I know you do. Enough to come back to Tree Hill this weekend and help me pack up the old place?”  
“Not on your life.”

“Meanie.”  
“Nate, I seriously need to get caught up on some gallery stuff. But I’ll help you set everything up here when you get it back.”  
“I should think so, too.”

“Wait ... what?”  
“Well, it’s your place now too.”

“Oh my God.”  
“You okay? Second thoughts?”  
“No, but _shit_ ... my stuff from LA’s arriving this weekend so … errgghh. I won’t even have your muscles here to help get it into Dad’s place then start ferrying it to here.”  
“Call the freight company and redirect it to here. Find out if you can pay to have their guys bring it all in.”

She looks at him, wide eyed and almost open mouthed.

“What?” he asks in amusement.

“You’re not just a pretty face, Scott, are you?”


	16. "They're my family now."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is not friends with benefits,” Nathan fires back firmly, his forehead creased into a frown and his eyes flashing.  
> “Right,” Lucas retorts derisively. “You think this is a relationship?”  
> “I do, yeah.”  
> “Nathan Scott and Peyton Sawyer?” the blond says with a harsh laugh.  
> “Yes.”  
> “Can you not hear the universe’s laughter?” the blond says, his tone dripping cynicism.  
> “No. But I can hear Lucas Scott’s jealousy,” Nathan replies drily.  
> “You two were a train wreck.”

Just before he has to leave for Tree Hill, he tries again to persuade her to accompany him, but now she’s dealing not just with her own incoming belongings, but an issue with the contractor working on her gallery space, so he has no hope. She regretfully tells him she just can’t leave Charlotte to help him pack up the last of the house contents. He’s resigned to doing it himself when, out of the blue, he hears from Lucas. The blond had driven past Nathan’s ex-home and seen the sold sign and called him, offering, in what seemed to be a genuine attempt at fraternal reconciliation, to help Nathan out if he needed a hand with packing.

Nathan was, at best, cautious, but Lucas persuaded him, and, for the main part, the day had passed without event. There was the odd snide comment from Lucas about Haley, and how badly, apparently, Nathan was treating her by not being in constant contact, but Nathan had come to expect that. Lucas and Haley had blind spots regarding each other that were rarely able to be pierced, and they probably always would have.

“It’s gonna be weird not having my little brother living here,” Lucas muses as they add the last of the boxes to the pile the movers will collect the next day.

“I’ve already been gone from Tree Hill for the whole season and Charlotte’s not so far away,” the little brother in question shrugs. “And, really, it’s not like we’ve spent a lot of time together over the last few years.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. And … I know that’s on me. The whole Haley thing …”  
“I really don’t want to rehash history, Luke,” Nathan interrupts. “That’s so far in the past. We’ve all moved on or are moving on.”

Lucas looks at him a little oddly, not sure exactly what _moved on_ means in this context. Moving on as in moving to Charlotte? Moving on as in seeing someone? He misses the fraternal closeness they used to have, the support, the having each other’s back. And he knows it’s his own damned fault that it’s gone.

“I know, but … it’s just weird, Nate. Over time … everyone’s gone. Brooke to New York. Peyton to LA. Mouth to Omaha. Skills to California. Now you to Charlotte. We … it’s just Haley and I left here. Everyone’s scattered far and wide.”

“Isn’t that normal?” Nathan asks. “Isn’t that the dream; leaving a small town for a big opportunity?”

“I guess,” Lucas shrugs, sounding almost despondent. “But then what’s next? After the big success in the big city? I mean … look at Brooke. She lost it all.”

“Yeah but she’s bouncing back, starting over. She says she has no regrets and this time she’ll do it all her way.”

“This time?”

“She’s opening a new boutique in Charlotte; a baby and toddler line. Next to …” he stops, realising he’s getting into territory that will make Lucas react, in all likelihood, badly.  
“Next to?” Lucas prompts, immediately picking up on the atmosphere.  
“Next to … next to the new Charlotte space for Baker Sawyer Gallery. Baker Sawyer Gallery East.”

Lucas is silent for some time, digesting this piece of information.

“When?” he eventually asks.

“When do they open?” Nathan prevaricates, knowing that’s not at all what the intent of the question is. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot of work to do on the site. On both sites.”  
“No. When did you know about the gallery?”

“Couple of weeks back,” Nathan shrugs, feeling a little less nonchalant than the gesture indicates. He turns away, taping a box closed to … well, just to do something that isn’t being scrutinised by his brother’s suspicious gaze.  
“We’ve been here all day and you didn’t mention it until now,” Lucas states accusingly. “Why?”

“We’ve been … getting adjusted,” Nathan replies, picking up the box and walking a few steps to add it the growing pile. “Taking a little time to finalise plans.”

“Plans?” Lucas scoffs. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not talking about blueprints?”

Nathan shrugs again, but then swallows and turns back to face Lucas. He has to own this. And he does; he really does. But Lucas is just so … _irrational_ … when it comes to Peyton.

“Wait,” his brother insists, his hand lifting then pointing, “you said we. _We_?”

“Yeah,” Nathan confirms, staring Lucas down. “We.”

“You said you weren’t … you and Peyton. That night in LA.”  
“I wasn’t,” Nathan responds with another shrug, one that looks off hand. It’s anything but. “We weren’t. _Not then_.”  
“You are now?”  
“We are now,” he confirms, holding his brother’s long stare without flinching.

“Convenient,” Lucas eventually mocks.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I mean … you move to Charlotte. She opens a new branch in Charlotte. Oh wow, _how convenient_. Friends with benefits without the distance factor.”

“This is _not_ friends with benefits,” Nathan fires back firmly, his forehead creased into a frown and his eyes flashing.  
“Right,” Lucas retorts derisively. “You think this is a _relationship_?”  
“I do, yeah.”  
“Nathan Scott and Peyton Sawyer?” the blond says with a harsh laugh.  
“Yes.”

“Can you not hear the universe’s laughter?” the blond says, his tone dripping cynicism.  
“No. But I _can_ hear Lucas Scott’s jealousy,” Nathan replies drily.

“You two were a train wreck.”

“That was a _long_ time ago, Luke.”

“What’s changed?” Lucas laughs disbelievingly.   
“A lot. Everything.”  
“What’s changed that makes you think you won’t be a train wreck again?”

“That’s simple,” Nathan says, almost tenderly, his tone suddenly warm and his stance strong. “I know how to love her now.”  
“You know how to _love_ her?”

“I do.”  
“And you really think that’s all it takes?”

“No. That’s only half of the equation. I know how to love her now; that’s the first half of it.”

“And the other half?” Lucas says harshly.  
“She knows how to _be_ loved by me.”

“I’m sorry. Since when have you been moonlighting as Dr Phil?”

“Funny.”

“You know what’s funny?” Lucas asks with a contorted look on his face. “You actually seem to believe that she’s capable of all of that.”

“I do.”

“You keep saying _I do_ , little brother. Practicing?” he scoffs.

“Is that such a ridiculous thought?” Nathan asks, with an amused tone, the corner of his mouth lifting up in that lifelong Scott smirk.  
“Yeah. It’s _completely_ ridiculous. You know why?”  
“I expect you’ll tell me,” Nathan says calmly.  
“She’s _Peyton Sawyer_. _C’mon,_ Nathan! She’s pathologically unable to say yes to the one she’s actually got. Explain that behavior, Dr Phil.”

“The ones she’s had have been the wrong ones,” Nathan says with a nonchalant shrug, as if it’s the simplest thing ever.

“Oh really?”

“Really.”  
“How confident are you in that?”  
“Very.”  
“The Peyton Sawyer I know is an emotional cripple with a truckload of issues. She’s a girl that can’t say yes to happiness.”  
“Yeah,” Nathan says. “I guess that’s true, Lucas. That is the Peyton Sawyer you know. But the thing is … the Peyton Sawyer _I_ know is successful, and confident, and open and an amazing Mom and an incredible woman. And she _is_ happy.”

“She’s a messed-up commitment-phobe who wants who she can’t have and runs from who she can.”  
“She _was_ , sure. And _you’re_ the ass that made her that way.”

“And _you_ made her an insecure bitch,” Lucas fires back, clearly thinking he’ll score points.

“Yeah, I did,” Nathan acknowledges calmly. “More than a decade ago, Luke. The thing is, _I_ grew up. Did you?”

Again, Lucas is quiet.

“Luke …”  
“You know,” the elder brother begins with a distant look in his eye. “I did it once. I could do it again.”

There’s a heavy, ominous silence for a long few seconds before Nathan speaks with a dangerous tone.

“You’d better fucking not mean what I think you mean.”

“I mean; I took her off you once.”

“You remember the weekend of Whitey’s funeral, Luke? When you were such a fucking asshole to Sawyer? Haley asked me then if I thought you’d try to get her back. That was way, way before there was anything other than renewing our friendship between Peyton and me, and I _still_ told Haley that if you tried it, I’d hand you your ass on a plate. You seriously think I’d stand by and let you try and fuck with her head? Or treat her like some … toy to be squabbled over in a kindergarten sand box? She’s not a chattel!”

“No,” Lucas says with a sly look. “She’s a _mess_. A hot mess, I’ll admit. Is that what it’s all about? ‘Cos I’ll give you that; she’s a great fu …”

“Don’t finish that,” Nathan cuts in, stepping forward and right into Lucas’ space, raising his arm but then dropping it. He will not resort to getting physical. Not yet anyway. “Do _not_ talk about her that way.”  
“Wow. You’ve got it bad. Well … all I can say is make the most of those endless legs being wrapped around your hips while you’ve got them, ‘cos it won’t be for long.”

“You’re an ass.”  
“Maybe I’ll come visit you in Charlotte soon,” Lucas says derisively. “Check out those legs. See which Scott boy really knows her best?”

Nathan shakes his head, seeing so much of his sixteen-year-old self in the way Lucas is behaving. And, like that sixteen-year-old version of Nathan, Lucas pushes when he doesn’t get a rise.

“Like I said, Nate. I did it once …”

“You know what _I_ did more than once? I disowned you as my brother. I did it most of my life until halfway through high school. I did it again when you had a tawdry little affair with Haley. And guess what? I’m doing it again … from _right now_. Thanks for the help packing up the house. From now on, I don’t know you. See yourself out. I’m going to get some dinner. I’ll be back within an hour. You’d better not be here. And lock the door when you leave.”

He steps back then shakes his head.

“You know what, _big brother_?” he says, the last two words said with what sounds almost like spite. “Not that it’s any of your goddam business, but I guess I should tell you one more thing about Peyton.”  
“What’s that?” Lucas scoffs.

“She’s moving in me with me. Her and her awesome kid. Peyton Sawyer and her daughter? _They’re_ my family now.”

And he turns and walks.  
  



	17. Birthday Cake Candle Wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a very tiny present,” her daughter repeats, looking across to Nathan. “But Nathan said it has a big, important meaning.”

Although there’s not a lot left to do, they’re still settling into the loft. The odd box remains to be unpacked and there’s a couple of large boxes sitting near the front door that need to be delivered to a charity store at some point; double ups and even a couple of items from each of them that the other looked at with horror. And yet, only a month in, it feels like they’ve been here, together, for a long time. It just feels … so _right_. Him. Her. Her daughter. And he loves the fact that, with his ever so fortunate lifestyle, there are times, like right now, when he can hang out with Jules while Peyton spends the afternoon at the new gallery, where the final touches are progressing and with a grand opening date now set.

“Hey Munchkin. You ready to go get ice cream?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?” he repeats, with mock horror. “Are _you_ okay Jules?”

She’s quiet, this amazing little girl that he’s come to love. Ah, who’s he trying to fool? He thinks he fell head over heels for this kid within minutes of meeting her. She pretty much had had him at _old-school hip-hop_.

“You know, that’s not your usual reaction to getting ice cream,” he teases lightly. “Are you sick? Are you sad?”

“Sad?” she says wistfully. “I think so.”

“Do you want to tell me why?”

“I can’t,” she says with a terribly grown-up sigh, flopping back on the sofa.

“Hmmm,” he hums, resting his finger at his chin. “Like that, huh? Can you tell me _why_ you can’t tell me what’s making you sad, without telling me what it actually _is_ that’s making you sad?”

Juliet thinks on that for a few moments, biting her bottom lip in a way that is so like her mother he has to stop himself from laughing. The thought that in a dozen years or so that lip biting gesture will drive boys wild, just like Peyton did to him when they were in their Freshman year at high school, sobers him fairly quickly.

“I think so,” she eventually concedes.

He waits for her to continue.

“Well,” she says, “I think my blowing out birthday cake candles wish isn’t going to come true.”

“I see. And you can’t tell me what it is, because if you say out loud what the wish is, the wish won’t come true?”

Juliet nods firmly and climbs onto Nathan’s knee, resting her head on his chest.

“That my friend, is called a Catch-22. Did you know that?” he says sagely.

She shakes head, tips it back to look at him with her big green eyes and with the cutest little frown creasing her forehead.

“Not getting your wish is pretty tough, huh?”

Juliet nods her head again, then follows it with her most dramatic sigh yet.

“You know what a loophole is, Jules?” he asks, fighting hard against laughter.

“Is it like the rabbit hole in _Alice in Wonderland_?”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head, then holding up a finger and waggling it. “It’s _way_ better. A loophole is something that helps you get around the rules, so they don’t apply to you anymore.”

“Like puppy dog eyes?” she asks, her own eyes bright.

He chuckles.

“Not quite like puppy dog eyes, kiddo, though I agree they do help with getting around rules sometimes. The good news for you is that I _think_ there might be a birthday cake candle wish loophole.”

“Really?” she asks, eyes widening a little and a distinct note of hope entering her voice.

“If there is someone that can make the wish come true, then I think it might be okay to tell _only them_ … just in case the message didn’t get through to the birthday cake candle wishes department.”

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’m pretty sure,” he nods. “So ... is there someone who can help make the wish come true?”

“You can help.”

“I can? Well, it would be my pleasure to assist, Madame.”

She giggles and tells him he’s funny, to which he says thank you, that’s a great compliment coming from his favourite girl.

“What’s the wish about, Jules?”

“It’s about Mommy and me coming to live with you.”

“Okay,” he responds carefully, his heart tightening a little. “I thought you were happy about that, Jules. You love your room, and you’ve already made new friends.”

“I was … I am … I really like living here with you. But it’s just that I think now that we’re living with you, my wish can’t come true.”

He looks at her eyes – sad again - and immediately becomes worried that her wish is for her Daddy to come back. And, while he really thinks he doing okay on ‘adulting’, he’s not at all sure he’s ready to handle that particular issue with a child this young.

“Are you sure you want to tell me about this kiddo?” he asks gently. “Maybe you should talk to your Mom?”

“No<” she says shaking her head emphatically. “Mommy can’t do it.”

“I’m sorry Jules, but I don’t understand what your wish is. Is it ... is it about your Daddy?”

The little girl looks confused and shakes her head again, her forehead creased into another perfect little Sawyer frown.

“No. Nathan, my Daddy died. You know that. Even a birthday cake candle wish can’t change people being dead.”

“Well ... that is true. You’re far too smart, you know. I’m the dummy that doesn’t get it. I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell me very clearly what I can do to help with this wish. Can you do that?”

She grabs his face and looks at him, nodding solemnly and he thinks, again, how incredibly like Peyton she is.

“I wished that you would marry Mommy and me, so we can be a family.”

“You did?”

Again, she nods, but this time it’s a defeated little nod if ever he saw one, and he realizes the shock on his own face must have given her the impression … well …

“Jules … why does coming to live with me mean you can’t get your wish?” he asks, carefully rearranging his expression to be calm and encouraging.

Juliet takes a big breath then rushes out a long explanation.

“When Mommy was painting your loft,” she pauses for a moment then continues with a correction that makes his heart swell. “I mean when Mommy was painting your loft before it was _our_ loft, Aunt Brooke picked me up and we brought cakes and we came here to eat them with Mommy. They were delicious and we really liked the colours of the paints Mommy chose for our loft. And … and … and I heard Aunt B talking to Mommy about Coach Bobby. She said maybe if she didn’t agree to live with him when he asked, he would ask her to marry him instead.”

Aahhh. Right.

“You have big ears, little lady!” he tells her, smiling indugently.

“I know!” she says, nodding quickly. “And Grandad Larry says I have a big brain to go with them.”

“Sweetie, I think this time your brain was a bit too big,” Nathan says, trying hard not to laugh. “Living in the same house doesn’t mean you can’t get married as well.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Nope. In fact, do you know what? A lot of the time people live together so that they can practice being married. To see if they can be married nicely.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

She studies him for a moment then grins, almost like a switch was flicked on her mood.

“I might be ready for ice cream now,” she says, leaping up and reaching out for his hand. Not for the first time he looks at her tiny little hand in his, and marvels at it.

They head out, walking to the ice cream parlour, passing a little store on the way that he admits, if only to himself, he had already made a note of. Maybe he just needed a nudge on the timing.

“Jules … I’ve got an idea and I think you might really like it.”

“What is it, Nate?”

“How about after we get ice cream, we come back to this jewellery store and see if we can find a ring for Mommy?”

“A pretty one?” she gushes, jumping up and down in excitement. “With sparkles?”

“A _really_ pretty one, and of course with sparkles. Will you help me choose it?”

As if she could say no to that.

Later that day, after Peyton gets home, the three of them have dinner together and are sitting on the longest couch, Nathan in the corner, Peyton leaning into him and Juliet lying across the bulk of the couch’s length, her head in her mother’s lap.

“Hey Jules,” he says eventually, after quietly reveling in his knowledge for a while, enjoying these few peaceful moments before, he hopes, everything changes forever. “Do you want to go get the present you got for Mommy?”

“You got me a present, Jules? I love presents from my Pickle.”

Juliet jumps up and skips around her mother to in Nathan’s ear, holding her little hand up as a screen and eyeing Peyton to make sure she isn’t listening in.

“It’s in the side pocket of my red bag, Munchkin,” he replies to her whispered question. “Next to the big bed.”

She whispers in his ear again, still screening them off with her hand and still looking sideways at Peyton.

“No, you don’t have to give it to me,” he tells her. “You can give it straight to your Mom. Do you remember what we said?”

Jules nods and skips off leaving Peyton looking at Nathan suspiciously with her eyebrow raised.

“What?” he says, running his palm down her thigh.

“What are you up to?”

“Just making some wishes come true,” he shrugs, with his trademark Nathan Scott smirk.

“Whose wishes?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

Her daughter skips back into room, with her hands behind back and jumps into Peyton’s lap.

“Hi Mommy,” she says coyly.

“Hi Pickle,” Peyton responds, playing the coy game.

“Nathan and I bought you a very nice present today.”

“Hmmm, so I hear.”

“It’s _very_ tiny,” Juliet says as if revealing a very large secret.

“Okay. Well, I hear good things come in small packages … a bit like _you!”_ Peyton exclaims as she makes a huge show of tickling Juliet, who giggles madly.

“Although,” Peyton continues to tease, “I’m still wondering how the smallest person in the house gets the most space on the couch!?”

Juliet giggles again then looks up at her mother very seriously.

“It’s a very tiny present,” her daughter repeats, looking across to Nathan. “But Nathan said it has a big, important meaning.”

Peyton shuffles forward, deliberately jiggling Jules about wildly as she does, until she’s only just still sitting on the couch.

“Well, I am officially _on the edge of my seat_ now!”

Juliet moves her hands around to the front, opens the little black box she has revealed and turns it around to show Peyton, who looks at it, at Juliet then at Nathan.

“What …?” she begins to ask, looking at him. He grins and nods his head towards Jules.

“Mommy! I haven’t finished, and you have to listen because I practiced a _lot_!”

She takes her mother’s hand and looks into the green eyes that are already tearing up.

“Mommy,” she says carefully, with much concentration, “Nathan would like us to marry him and I think it’s a really excellent idea, so I hope you think it’s an excellent idea too.”

Peyton looks at him, and his massive, boyish smile, and then back to her amazing kid.

“Quick, Jules,” he laughs, “don’t forget the puppy dog eyes!”

They both flutter their eyelashes at Peyton and smile winningly at her while she looks between them, wonderment in her gaze and a glowing smile of her own growing.

“Please Mommy? Say we’ll marry Nathan,” Jules says, placing the ring box into Peyton’s hand to emphasize her request, then curling her mother’s fingers around it.

“Yeah,” Nathan drawls, drawing their attention to him, “please Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer ... say you’ll marry me?”

Peyton leans forward and whispers into Juliet’s ear, while looking Nathan straight in the eye.

Her daughter shoots her arms in the air in the victory gesture she has learnt from watching Nathan play basketball and weaves her hands joyfully.

“Yes!” she yells excitedly before tucking herself into her mother’s arms.

“Yes?” he asks quietly, looking over her and into Peyton’s overflowing eyes.

“Yes,” she whispers, nodding a little.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it onto her finger and kisses her very softly and gently, leaning over Juliet and embracing them both.

“How did we do, Sawyer?” he asks quietly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” Peyton sighs. “Nate, it’s _perfect_. Honestly ... I couldn’t have done better.”

“Thank you for saying yes.”

“Thank you for asking … us,” she chuckles and leans in to press her lips against the pulse point near his ear. “And I’ll thank you _properly_ later, fiancé.”

He smirks then slips his hand down the side of the couch cushion and takes out a little rectangular box, which he passes to the girl that will soon be his stepdaughter.

“Is this for me?” she says, her eyes large.

“Uh-huh. It’s only fair … you did such a great job helping me with our marriage proposal.”

She opens it and finds a lovely little pendant on a silver chain, the stone the same colour sapphire as the ring her mother is now wearing. Nathan helps her with the chain, and they all sit, together, enjoying the peace, occasionally swapping smiles, and with Jules beaming widely whenever she looks at her mother’s engagement ring, or touches the pretty pendant around her own neck.

He’s already in bed when she comes in from the en suite bathroom, wearing a tiny sapphire coloured satin slip.

“So,” she begins, standing at the side of the bed, her hands on her hips and a cheeky smile playing about the corners of her perfect lips, “tell me about the proposal conspiracy, _fiancé_.”

“I don’t think I can even speak with you looking like that. C’mere.”

He grabs her hand and pulls her across him, sliding one hand into her hair and one up her leg, kissing her as if his life depended on it.

“Mmm … very nice … and there will be more of that momentarily … but first … tell me, tell me, tell me!”

He kisses up her neck to her ear, playing with her ear lobe a little before she pushes him away and glares.

“Well … your fabulous daughter told me that she didn’t think her birthday cake candle wish could come true because the two of you were living with me now.”

“What?” she asks, pulling back further.

He slides his hands up and down her back over the satin, pausing to appreciate the golden glow of her skin before he replies.

“She overhead some comment Brooke made about her and Bobby and living together versus marriage and thought doing one meant the other couldn’t happen.”

“So, Jules’ birthday wish was what exactly?” she asks, her hand at her hip, eyebrow raised, tone bossy but teasing. God, he loves bolshie Peyton. Always did.

“Was for us to get married, to be a family.”

Peyton pulls back, concern suddenly written all over her face.

“Nathan! You can’t propose because a 4-year-old did puppy dog eyes at you!”

He runs his hand up behind her head and pulls her in for a long kiss, sliding his other hand down over her hips.

“Nathan! I’m serious!” she protests when she can finally bring herself to pull away from those perfect lips of his.

“Mmm. I know. So, am I … can’t you feel how ‘serious’ I am about this?” he asks, pressing his hips into hers.

“Nathan!”

“Peyton, I know I can’t propose because Jules does the best puppy dog eyes ever. But I _can_ propose because you’re amazing, and because you are _already_ my family, and because I want to spend my life with you, and because you’re my best friend, and because you’re sexy as hell, and because you get me, and I get you, and you’re beautiful and I am so totally in love with you that the idea of not being married to you is just ... ridiculous … and did I mention you’re sexy as hell?”

“Twice,” she chuckles.

“Well, alright then. So, we’re clear on that … and are we good on this proposal thing?”

“Oh, we are soooo good on this proposal thing.”

“So, good then … now about that you get the hell on with the ‘thanking me properly’ that you mentioned earlier …”

Later, she’s drawing on Nathan’s chest with her fingertip, which she’s always done, and which he’s always loved. And yes, he’s very aware that _every single tiny little thing_ she does – gesture, facial expression, act - is something that he loves about her.

“Is that actual letters or random?” he asks after a bit.

“Actual letters. Well … numbers.”

“What are you writing on my chest Sawyer?”

“You’ll get the first bit if you concentrate …”

“23,” he smiles after a moment.

“23,” she agrees with a happy sigh.

She goes onto cursive letters and announces each word as she completes it.

“Peyton … Sawyer … hearts … Nathan …”

“… Scott,” he finishes for her, kissing her temple.

“See if you can get this one.”

“Peyton … Sawyer ...”

“Scott,” she finishes as she draws. “Peyton Sawyer-Scott. Sounds kinda nice.”

“Really?” he asks, drawing back to look at her, looking somewhat surprised.

“You don’t want me to have your name?”

“I’d love you to have my name, babe. I just thought you might want to keep Sawyer for Jules, the gallery …”

“You don’t mind if I use both?”

“Why would I mind?”  
“It’s what …”

“What Haley did?”

She nods, wondering if she sounds ridiculously insecure.

“Peyton,” he says, turning on to his side and drawing her as close as he can, smoothing her hair back and popping a quick, sweet kiss on her lips. “Babe, we have to do what we want for _us_ , regardless of whether it’s the same or different to anything that came before.”

“I want your name for me,” she says firmly, her palm cupping his cheek. “I want the world to know I’m Nathan Scott’s girl. I think maybe I’ll hyphenate it. Sawyer-Scott sounds perfect; I don’t know what to do for Jules though.”

“She’s a smart kid. Why don’t you let her decide herself?”

“She’s a little young to do that now.”

“Sure, but when she’s older. She can be Juliet Sawyer Baker as long as she wants, forever if that’s her preference. There’s no obligation for her to change it.”

“What if she wants to … later, I mean? She loves you, Nate. I think she might want to have the same name.”

“Maybe if she likes Sawyer-Scott, she could switch hers around to Baker Sawyer-Scott. Have a bit of all of us. If she wants to. But I’d never expect it.”

“I know. So … if she has Scott, if she _chooses_ Scott, how would you feel about making that official? Later, when she’s older and understands? If it’s what she wants?”  
“You mean ...?”  
“… yeah. Adopting her.”

“Seriously? God, Peyton, I would _love_ to. But only if it’s what she wants … and later. I know how much it meant to Luke that Keith was going to ... So, if it would make Jules happy, then yeah. It’d be a privilege.”


	18. Triptych to Quadtych (Reprise) or Three Become Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to announce it,” Nathan says the next morning, in an entirely offhand manner, when he goes to pass her a steaming coffee mug.  
> “Oh God,” she mutters, making him pull the mug back from her extended hand so that she looks up at him. His eyebrow’s quirked in question and she smiles reassuringly. “Just … Brooke,” she explains with a cute little shrug. He has no idea what she means but her casual gesture reassures him that she’s not actually reluctant to tell people that they’re … holy shit, that they’re engaged.

“We need to announce it,” Nathan says the next morning, in an entirely offhand manner, when he goes to pass her a steaming coffee mug.

“Oh God,” she mutters, making him pull the mug back from her extended hand so that she looks up at him. His eyebrow’s quirked in question and she smiles reassuringly. “Just … Brooke,” she explains with a cute little shrug. He has no idea what she means but her casual gesture reassures him that she’s not actually reluctant to tell people that they’re … _holy shit,_ that they’re engaged.

“What about her?” he asks. “I mean … there is no one else in the known universe that is more into engagements than Brooke.”

“She … she’s afraid that her and Bobby won’t get there and …” she shrugs again and he wonders how one tiny little gesture like that can so completely convey both her concern for her friend and an acknowledgement that they have to live their own lives on their own timetable. “I know she’ll be so happy for us, Nathan, but I’m a little worried it might freak her out a bit too.”

“Right. Well ... I don’t think she’d be happy to find out, later, that you delayed your own …”

“You know we never did get around to having that housewarming party,” Peyton muses, interrupting his point.

“I asked you about announcing that you’re crazy enough to marry me,” he says firmly, pushing his point. “I know it’s kind of a big deal; how we tell people, I mean. Especially if it’s tricky with Brooke, but …”

“I know,” she grins. “And I said ...”

“Yeah yeah. Housewarming. We’ve both been a bit full on since we talked about that.”

“Making the playoffs,” she says proudly, gesturing towards him.

“Making a new gallery,” he retorts just as proudly, mirroring her gesture back at her.

“All I’m saying is ... if we had a belated housewarming party, no one would think it was a ... what did you say ... big deal?”

“No, I said that about the engagement announce ... oh.”

“You got it now?” she teases.

“I got it now. So ... we have a housewarming party. And ... we just ...”

“Make an announcement there.”

So that’s the plan. But, in the end, that’s not what happens.

Of course, Brooke’s spidey senses kick in and within mere seconds of seeing Peyton later that day, she guesses. The brunette tries hard to appear offended that she wasn’t informed right away, but she doesn’t mean it. And even if she did, she’d have let it go the second Peyton tells her, with real concern in her voice, that she was worried Brooke would feel a little sad, given their conversation over that gorgeous cake.

Brooke merely shrugs, then holds a finger aloft.

“You know … that bakery also makes wedding cakes, P. Sawyer. Oh! And I was chatting to an amazing florist just the other day.”

“See … that’s why you’re my Maid of Honour,” Peyton chuckles.

“I … _really_?” Brooke gasps, her hands fluttering to her chest.

“Oh my God, Brooke! Who else would it be?”

So, instead of announcing their engagement at the party, they include it in the party invitation. His teammates, his Charlotte-based family (but not the last ones – father and brother – that are left in Tree Hill), her family, including the adopted family named Davis on the West Coast, her friends. Funny how so many of them are still there from high school days – Brooke, Jake and yes, with her fiancé’s blessing, she invites Haley; all of them receive a beautifully designed hand drawn card that invites them to a ‘dual-purpose party’. A celebration that is both housewarming and heart-warming; it specifically mentions celebrating a new home and a new engagement. Their respective phones don’t stop ringing for a full day.

She gets crazy busy with finalising the gallery; selecting furniture for it, confirming local artists for the first showing. He watches her stress levels ratchet up then, when she starts muddling details for the gallery’s opening night with their own party, he steps in, pushes her onto the sofa, removes the party binder (the same one he’d teased her mercilessly about even setting up) from her hands and, glancing down at the open page, tells her she’s _no way in hell_ going to try and do the food herself, that he’ll get caterers in and not only will he do that, she’s to leave the other details to him as well. And he means _all_ the details.

“But I …”  
“I want you to enjoy our engagement party as much as I do,” he insists. “I don’t want you so stressed out that it whizzes past you in a flash then you collapse in an exhausted heap.”

“I …” she exhales, and her shoulders drop.

“Okay?”  
“Okay,” she nods. “Thanks baby.”

“And by the way, you can cross off going shopping for outfits for your gallery opening and our party from your lists. There’s two dresses in your closet.”  
“There’s several,” she replies, not taking his point.

“I mean ... there’s new dresses.”

“You bought me dresses?” she asks, her tone rising a little in disbelief.

“Sort of?” he replies, looking a little off kilter.

“Sort of? You … _stole_ me dresses?” she teases.

“I … _commissioned_ you dresses.”  
She tips her head and her eyes glow.

“Brooke?” she asks, though it’s barely a question.

“Of course. She’d kill me if I went to anyone else, right?”

“You’re awesome. You know that?”  
“I do, yes,” he says very solemnly, making her tip her head back and laugh out loud.

“So,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, “big fancy pro ball player commissioning designer dresses for his girl; are you trying to be my Sugar Daddy?”

“I’m barely older than you!” he protests with a chuckle. “Isn’t a big age gap prerequisite for being a Sugar Daddy?”

She laughs at him and remarks that when he uses words like prerequisite it’s hard to reconcile who is he is now with who he used to be. He shrugs and rolls his eyes and says they’ve both come an awfully long way since high school.

“So,” he says a moment later, “they’re in silk and one’s this really cool dark, dark blue and one’s … I think Brooke called it ivory? And it has dark green bits. Will they …?”  
“Sounds great,” she assures him. “And ... it’s Brooke … so I know they’ll be beautiful. And I know they’ll fit like they were made for me.”

“Because they were made for you?” he points out, then pauses before he continues, much less mirthfully. “I … I was thinking …”

“What?”  
“I mean … the blue one’s more … um … sophisticated and the ivory one’s more … um … floaty and pretty …”  
“Sounds like you have a view about which one I should wear when?” she teases. “You trying to be the boss of me now?”

“I think I know who’s the boss in this relationship, Sawyer,” he retorts. “From the day you turned up at the stadium, it was _never_ going to be me.”

“Well, in that case,” she grins, “you can buy me dresses any time you like.”

“Thank you,” he says solemnly, rolling his eyes yet again. “Really. Thank you, Peyton. I’m so grateful.”

“You just remember that,” she teases back before she returns to the dress discussion. “So … navy and sophisticated, ivory, pretty and floaty?”

“Yeah ... I mean … I know nothing about fashion but …”

“Nathan,” she says gently.

“Sophisticated for the gallery?” he suggests a little hesitantly.

“Pretty and floaty for here,” she confirms with a soft smile, then reaches for the binder, tosses it to the side and pulls him down to kiss him thoroughly.

The party’s in full swing when he approaches her, wordlessly entwines his fingers with her then tugs her gently across the room to stand in front of his coach. His coach who has watched their progress towards him with a rather knowing smile.

“So, babe,” Nathan says with a teasing lilt, “darling, sweetheart, light of my life …”

“What did you do?” she asks accusingly, though the palm of her free hand is pressed flat on his chest and her eyes are twinkling.

“I want to introduce you to Bobby Irons.”  
She looks at him as if he’s mad, of course, but his face remains … not impassive, exactly, but calm.

“I know Bobby, you idiot.”

“Ah yes, but you see, I know something about Bobby Irons that you don’t know,” Nathan teases.

“Uh-huh,” she retorts drily. “Me too. I know how Bobby Irons kisses.”

Nathan’s jaw drops open and his calm veneer is shattered; he looks horrified.

“He’s great,” she adds, while he does a remarkable impersonation of a goldfish. “I mean,” she adds carefully and thoughtfully, “not in the same league as … you.”  
“No; better,” inserts Brooke from behind as she joins the trio.

Peyton smiles benignly at her friend, then angles back a little, meeting Nathan’s gaze behind Brooke’s back and shaking her head, screwing up her noise and mouthing ‘Nope! Crazy talk!” at him.

He laughs, pulls her to him and presses his lips to her temple.

“Well, Bobby Irons’ kissing technique aside,” he says, “which is where it will remain thank you very much Sawyer soon to be Scott; _I_ know, and _neither of you_ know, that he’s ordained.”

“What?” the two women say together, looking at each other then back to him.

Nathan nods, grinning, enjoying his small piece of one upmanship.

“Yep. So …” he pauses then, raises his hand to smooth Peyton’s hair back, and leaves his palm at the side of her upturned face. “So … you wanna get hitched?”

“Isn’t that what this party’s all ab … ohmigod, Nathan!” she interrupts herself when she realises what the expectant, hopeful look in his deep blue eyes means. “You mean ... now?!”

“Yeah, babe. I mean now. You game?”

“I call Maid of Honour!” Brooke exclaims excitedly.

“We already know that, Brooke,” Peyton answers distractedly.

“I mean, I call it now!” Brooke retorts.

“I didn’t say yes!”

“Hate to tell you,” Nathan laughs, “but you did. And you can’t it back either. So it’s just a matter of when.”

She looks at him for a long moment then rolls her eyes and stands on tiptoes to press her lips to his.

“Well, in that case,” she shrugs, leaving the reast of the response unspoken.

“Is that a yes?”

She merely grins, raises her free hand to her lips and lets out a loud, piercing whistle that brings every last movement in the room to a halt.

“Hey Cooper Lee,” she shouts into the expectant silence.

Cooper turns and waits, raises his hands in a ‘what?’ gesture.

“Get your sexy ass over here and be your nephew’s best man,” she instructs. “Now. And by _now_ , I mean, _right now_. Apparently, there’s about to be a wedding in the house.”

“You kiss my coach and tell my uncle he has a sexy ass?” Nathan teases near her ear as the room erupts into an excited kerfuffle. “Should I be reconsidering this?”

“I dunno, Nate,” she queries, eyebrow raised and hand on hip defiantly. “Should you?”

“Never,” he mutters against her lips.

He doesn’t kiss her for long enough in her opinion, but she forgives him, because, on breaking away, he makes some sort of prearranged secret squirrel gesture to the caterers, and the woman brings over a beautifully arranged posy of cream, white and ivory flowers, bound together with an ivory ribbon.

“You’re quite the party planner,” Peyton teases him.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he retorts playfully.

He calls Juliet and she skips over, bubbling with happiness.

“Nathan!” she says with wonder. “You’re _so_ sneaky!”

“I know,” he says. “Do you think you can forgive me for not having you in on the secret?”  
“Yes!” she says very quickly. “Because I don’t think I could keep a secret like this! I’m not big enough.”  
“Oh dear,” he says with concern as he crouches down to her. “Are you … do you think you’re big enough to be a flower girl?”

“I … I don’t know,” she says carefully, looking up to her mother briefly. “I … think so. But … what do I do?”  
She’s looking, suddenly, a bit overwhelmed, when Brooke glides in and take the flowers from Nathan with one hand and takes Juliet’s hand in the other and steers her away gently.

“It’s easy peasy,” she says lightly. “All you do is hold the flowers in front of you like this.”  
Brooke shows her, then passes the bouquet to Juliet, who holds it in an exact mini replica of Brooke’s position.

“Perfect!” Brooke exclaims, with an excited little jump and clap of her hands. “You see! You’re a natural. Now … the first time I was flower girl, I tried to hold the flowers upside down so you’re already better than me!”

“Did you really?” Jules asks, eyes wide and giggling.

“Absolutely! Now … your Mommy and Nathan are going to walk up the hallway to where Bobby is standing. And the flower girl – that’s _you_ \- and the Best Man – that’s Hot Uncle … oops that’s _Cooper_ \- and the Maid of Honour - that’s _me_ – we all walk in front of them.”  
“But there isn’t room for three people to walk in the hallway next to each other,” Jules points out.

“That’s true,” Brooke says thoughtfully. “What do you think we should do?”

“Um … walk one at a time?” Jules suggests after a moment.

“Perfect!” Brooke replies. “And … do you know what?”  
“What?”

“It’s tradition for the flower girl to go first. Reckon you can handle that?”

“Yup!” Jules nods emphatically.

“So … you hold the flowers. You walk up the hallway before Cooper and me. You smile like an angel and be your usual beautiful self.”

“Okay!” Jules says with a skip. “I can do all of those things!”

It takes just a few minutes. Cooper stands next to Nathan. Brooke stands next to Peyton. Bobby has the guests in stitches telling the tale of a late-night phone call to a gallery in LA, how he thought he was onto something with big potential, something more than just an artist.

“ _Just_ an artist?” she quips. “How much have I increased Bobcats merchandising revenue by, Irons?”

He laughs, raises his hands in mock surrender. He continues with the tale; figuring out – eventually - that the reason why the fates had brought her into _his_ life was actually so that she could be back in his star player’s.

And, he might add, figuring that out well before either of them did. Then, he adds with a look to Brooke that manages to be both enormously fond and deeply passionate, understanding that it wasn’t the bride in front of them at _this_ moment, that held the potential for _him_. Brooke gasps and Peyton smiles and Nathan laughingly snaps his fingers in front of Bobby’s face and tells him to focus on the task at hand, _thank you very much_ , that he can swan off and organise the next wedding on his own time.

And then … they’ve exchanged rings (beautiful rings) and Bobby’s asking Nathan to say a few words and Peyton gulps. _Shit!_ She’s going to have to say something; something other than repeating the official words after Bobby. She can barely concentrate on what Nathan’s saying but she’s so, so glad she manages to. Even if he makes her cry.

Nathan looks at the quadtych on the wall behind them and then looks at the new, large piece on the wall to their side. Her engagement gift to him that absolutely took his breath away when he first saw it.

“I think your art says it better than I possibly could,” he begins, taking both her hands in his, his thumbs stroking against her wrists. “Your art with its fire and passion and beauty.”  
“Oh my God,” she whispers, ducking her head in modesty.

“And … you know … I never knew what people meant when they said a painting spoke to them. But I understand now. Your work … I just feel this pull. I did even from when I walked into that room to find out the team’s new sketch artist was _my_ old girlfriend.”

“You did _not!”_ she says, though she’s smiling.

“Oh yes, he did!” Deb yells out. “I remember him saying so on a phone call … right before he went into …”  
“Oh my God,” Peyton whispers, looking from Deb (her _mother-in-law_!) to Nathan.

“I … I’d seen some of your Angels sketches,” he continues, “and, even though I don’t follow baseball at all, there was something about those sketches, something that seemed … familiar. And that’s how it’s been with you too … there’s a pull … a magnetic pull that was never going to be resistible. Not by me. My life was amazing, and I had no complaints. But I didn’t know, until you were back in it, what had been missing. I was a piece – and I mean, I was a _great_ piece,” he adds, making their guests laugh, “but I didn’t understand how many pieces were _missing_. I didn’t realise how much bigger my life could be, was _meant_ to be. I was missing the other three pieces – and they were you, and Jules, and us. You’re here. And I’m … my _life_ is complete. This is how it’s meant to be.”

“I know what you mean,” she says, finding herself speaking without even knowing what she’s going to say, and yet every last shred of nervousness has vanished. “When you came back into my life, I had a life list with 8.5 out of 10 ticked off. I was _great_ too,” she says in reference to his own use of that word, making him chuckle. “In fact,” she teases, “I was _more_ than great. Amazing kid, amazing business, amazing family. But … there was a critical missing part. I didn’t have the boy that loved me, for me. And I didn’t have peace, not real, true peace. Now I have you. And that means I have both of those things.”

“I love you,” he declares, pulling her to him and bending her back over his arm to kiss her thoroughly.

“Um,” says Bobby, “yep. So … I now declare you husband and wife and I … guess you can kiss the bride.”

When Nathan pulls her back to her feet, flushed and blushing, he looks over to the sound system and nods at Haley.

“Hit it, James!” he yells.

“You had your ex-wife in on this too?” Peyton laughs.

“Not this,” he says, gesturing to indicate Bobby and their rings. “Just, when I told her, to hit play on …”  
“On … _Poison_?” Peyton splutters as the song bursts through the speakers. “ _Really_ Nathan? You picked … Poison?”

“No! Oh my god. You think I’m crazy or something? In what universe would there be Poison at a Peyton Sawyer wedding?”

“Sorry, people!” Haley grimaces. “Wrong play button. User error! Poison! As if!”

She hits stop, then another button.

Peyton shakes her head.

“The question remains why on earth do you have Poison in there at all?” she says fiercely. “I may have made a terrible mistake marrying you!”

“Wait,” he says knowingly. And … _of course_ it’s The Cure. And of course, it’s _Lovesong_. And, of course, she melts into his arms for a slow, tender dance as their nearest and dearest look on.

He sees the caterers out, thanking them profusely for their professionalism and warmth, and, of course, the amazing food. They laugh and say he’s more than welcome, and that really, they were just doing what he’d paid them to do, but hint that having a written recommendation from Nathan Scott from the Bobcats certainly wouldn’t go amiss as they build their business in Charlotte. He tells them he’ll email it within a few days, as soon as the thrill of being a newlywed wears off a bit. The caterers, a married couple, look at each other. “We might be waiting a while for that recommendation, honey,” she says to him. He grins back at her. “Yup, think about what we were like for the first few weeks,” he recalls. “Hmm, I think you mean months,” she flirts back.

“Okay, enough already,” Nathan laughs. “Go home! I’ll send it tomorrow.”

They look at each other, clearly unconvinced.

“She sleeps late when she’s not going in to work,” he says conspiratorially, “and I’m always awake early. There’s a window when I can do it and not compromise my honeymoon!”

When he comes back into the living room, he has to stop and lean against the wall and just look at her. She’s slouched on the couch, with her feet up on the coffee table. Still wearing that gorgeous dress, but shoes kicked off, jewellery - other than her engagement and wedding rings - in a little pile on the coffee table, her hair undone, and all mussed up as she’s clearly run her fingers through it.

“Hey Mrs Sawyer-Scott.”

“Hey, baby.”

He walks over to stand behind her, bends down and kisses her upside down, running his hands down her arms and grabbing her hands, playing with her rings.

“So, I’m liking this; you being bound to me forever.”

“Bound? You know there’s an awful lot I’ll do for you, _husband_ , but you’re not tying me up!”

“Won’t ever need to tie you to the bed, babe,” he retorts with the most classic of Nathan Scott smirks. “I know you’ll never be able to keep your hands off me.”

She raises her eyebrow at him. “What? These hands?” She spreads them out in front of her. “The ones with the pretty jewellery on them? The beautiful engagement ring? The perfect wedding band?”

“Yup. Those hands. Those beautiful, creative, artistic hands that I want to be unbuttoning my shirt.”

“Manual labour?” she says with a fake look of incomprehension.

He laughs. “Come on, wifey, put those hands to good work.”

“Well,” she says coyly, “We do have the house to ourselves tonight …”

“And we haven’t christened this couch yet.”

“It may well be the only piece of furniture we haven’t christened,” she says thoughtfully, looking around the room.

“Can’t have it feeling left out,” he says, sliding over the back of the couch and hauling her against him with one arm and using his other hand to take one of hers and place it on his top shirt button.

Later, much later, they’re lying together on that couch, clothes strewn around them, and he’s twisting the rings on her finger around.

“So,” he says, in a tone she’s not heard before, “I know we just got married today …”

“Oh, is _that_ what that party was for?” she laughs. He frowns at her a little and she kisses him softly. “We got married today,” she says with wonder in her voice.

“So, you just got that wedding band …”

“Mmm.”  
“There’s a Scott tradition you may not know about.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“An eternity ring to complete the set.”

“Eternity sounds good.”

“And a proud Scott _husband_ gives one to his _wife_ when they have their first child.”

She smiles. She thinks she knows where this is going.

“And seeing as though we’re officially married, and Juliet is all settled, and we’re financially secure, and we’ve got family around …” he trails off, eyeing her hopefully but perhaps also a little cautiously.  
“Nathan Scott!” she exclaims, clutching her hands together, mock Southern Belle. “Are you trying to tell me you want to have a _baby_ with me?”

He looks rather coy, but so sweet she just falls even further.

“What do you think?” he asks with uncharacteristic bashfulness.

“It’s _really_ soon, Nate,” she cautions.

“We’ve known each other more than half our lives, Peyt. It’s not like this is a new relationship, really.”

“And we’ve been back together a few short months and married less than a day.”

“But it’s not like we’d be going from being just a couple to being a family. We’ve already got Jules. And besides, our kids’ll be like … _amazing_. Your brains. My brawn. And with our looks … they’ll be good looking enough to be supermodels!”

“Or maybe they’ll get my skinny arms and your big ego!” she counters.

“No chance. They’ll be amazing.”

“You really want this?” she asks, all levity gone, looking rather … earnest.

“I really do,” he nods. “And I’m pretty impressed that you’re not freaking out, babe. Does that mean I have a shot at convincing you?”

She wriggles and stands up, grabbing his shirt and throwing it on. He lays back, hands behind his neck and thinks it ought to be illegal for someone to look that hot wearing just a shirt. Well … it is _her_. In _his_ shirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “I was quite happy with you on top of me.”

“I have a wedding present for you,” she said. “I think this is the perfect timing.”

“You already gave me that amazing painting.”

“That was an engagement present. And this is better,” she says, extending her hand to him. He allows her to pull him up, rolling his eyes as if it’s a chore, but knowing that right now, he’d let her lead him anywhere at all. Make that anywhere inside the house; he is butt naked after all. He’s confused when it’s the kitchen that she takes him to.

He looks around, puzzled. Other than two large jars that the caterers seem to have left behind, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“What am I looking at?” he asks. “You know we don’t actually have to be in the kitchen to put a bun in that oven,” he teases.

She just leans on the counter, gazing at the jars.

“I guess the caterer forgot them,” he states, following her stare.

She smiles at him mysteriously, her eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“What’s in the jars, Nate?”

He looks at the labels. Pickles.

“Do you remember why I call Jules Pickle?” she continues with a crafty smile.

“Yeah. ‘Cos you craved pickles in insane quantities when you were …”

She smiles and waves her hands at the jars as if revealing a big prize on a game show.

“You’re pregnant?” he exclaims. “But … you were just listing off all the reasons why we shouldn’t … and we’ve been…”

“100% textbook safe,” she supplies. “I know. What can I say, Scott?”  
“You can say I’m a stud,” he laughs, scooping her into a tight hug, breathing in the very Peyton scent of her and then pressing his lips to hers.

“You’re a stud,” she repeats drily.

“And you’re a goddess.”

“Mmm,” she sighs, “I _am_ liking that! A goddess.”

“I’m going to be a Dad,” he says in wonder.

“You’re going to be a Dad. Well … more of a Dad, I guess.”

He stands back, taking her face between his hands. “I didn’t think I _could_ love you more … and now …”

“C’mere. Don’t _tell_ me, husband,” she says, waggling her eyebrows at him flirtatiously. “ _Show_ me.”

“Is that okay though? When you’re ...? It won’t hurt the baby?”

“Um … stable door wide open, horse bolted, baby. Do you not recall what you were doing half an hour ago? And, by the way, you are gonna _love_ the second trimester.”

“Why?”

“Hormones. Horny. As. Hell.” She stops and thinks. “And it’ll be before the next basketball season starts up again, so you’ll just be my on-call stud, always at the ready …”

“Always,” he agrees, and she knows he’s talking a much bigger _always_ than she was.

“Always up for it?” she flirts.

“Like this?” he says, taking her hand and running it down to below his stomach to where she can feel he is indeed up for it.

“Mmmm. Just like this. Honey …?”  
“Yeah, babe?”

“You cannot comprehend how glad I am that Bobby liked my Angels drawings.”

“You know? I think I might have a bit of an idea.”


End file.
